Edge of Defense
by AuronKae
Summary: 6A.E. The newly-formed Alpha-Four are met with their first hurdle; a little Pesenga girl. Can Baird finally find something to fight for among the wreckage? Witness the story that brought Baird and Cole together as brothers and friends. For MATURE readers
1. Camp Lemonade

_Revision Sept 07, 2009 - Changed a few spelling errors and added a bit more detail._

**Barracks, 0700 hours (6 years post-Emergence Day)**

Baird didn't even glance up from the Lancer when Redshirt came by to stand uncertainly in front of him in full armor. "What is it _now?_" he asked, scraping out connective muscle tissue from his chainsaw bayonet with an old toothbrush.

Redshirt was nineteen years old, though you probably couldn't tell. He was small, pale, and frail-looking. He hadn't built up the muscle all the others had in Basic, and it showed on the way his armor fit just too loose to notice. "Gus and I are heading out for a patrol," he said hesitantly. "You... you want to come?"

Baird fixed his best 'what-the-hell-do-you-think' expression on the green recruit, who shied away visibly. "Okay, okay, just asking," Redshirt muttered. He turned around and left leaving Baird to his own. He began to brush more vigorously, but muscle tissue was hard to get out.

It was only a few minutes later when Augustus Cole entered. Baird set his jaw angrily and brushed harder, then gave up on it and picked it out of the wiring with his fingers. "What _is_ it, Cole?" he asked.

"Yo man, just chill out, 'kay?" Cole was built like a brick shithouse, a sharp contrast to Redshirt. He held up his hands in a placating manner. "I know how much you wanna play with your toys, baby, but we need the extra guns."

"What about Rojas?" Baird asked, naming another man in their squad. _Anybody but me. I'm not going with Red._

"Sick in the toilet, man. Pukin' all over the place."

_That_ got Baird's attention. Rojas was a friend from a previous squad. "He going to be alright?"

"Doc says it's the flu, gave him some meds. You probably don't want to catch it anyway."

Baird sighed and revved the chainsaw experimentally. The rest of the tissue dislodged and fell on to the table. Well, there went _that_ excuse. Every Gear was expected to pull their own weight, anyway, so there wasn't really anything Baird ould do to get out of it that wouldn't get him in trouble."Fine, fine, I'll come. Give me ten to check on Rojas."

With a promise that he'd meet Cole at the entryway with Redshirt, Baird attached his armor plates with a morbidity that surprised even him. _I've been doing the same thing for six years,_ he thought. _Isn't there more to life than this?_

It was a question he asked himself every day. And each day he got no answer.

He checked and double-checked all his weapons, attached them to their corresponding places, and went to check on Rojas as he said he would. He gave the other Gears a nod as he passed them, and ducked into the bathrooms a short walk away. "Yo, Rojas, you okay in here?"

Rojas--tall, tan-skinned, with a black mullet—was sitting next to the sinks, his head between his knees. The smell of bile hung around him like a cloud. "What is it, Baird?" he asked monotonously.

"Just coming to check up on you, man," Baird replied, patting him on the shoulder. An asshole though he was, he still cared about his comrades. "You doin' okay in here?"

Rojas sighed and leaned his cheek against the cool granite countertops. "Having a blast." He noted the sweat on his forehead, and pursed his lips. "Naw, really. I love having days off. When I'm done in here I might go see the missus…"

"You look bad," Baird stated. He sat down across from him and took a swig from his canteen. "Hey, at least you have enough water in here."

"Not thirsty," he muttered. "Hell, don't even know _what_ I am."

Baird nodded. He'd never had the flu before, but he knew Rojas probably would've felt a lot better seven years ago when there were still real medications on the assembly line. The best they could do now was _morphine._

_Fuck, we're running low on everything. And we're not winning._

"Doc's letting you stay in here?"

"Says it can't get worse… and it's better than puking in _her_ room."

"She'd hate you for life," he said. He stood up, wondering why he sat down in the first place, and pat his shoulder. "Mike knows the situation?"

Rojas nodded. "Yeah—yep. Came in right before you did. Something about rounding you up to do babysitting duty with the rook."

Baird's face clouded over. "Oh, he did now, did he?" he asked evenly. "News to me, since I'm actually going out on patrol with Cole and Red _now._"

Rojas smiled. "Sarge knew you wouldn't want to go alone."

"If you see him, tell him to shove it up his ass," Baird said roughly, holding back his tone for the man's condition. He turned to go. "And drink some water, will you? You need fucking _fluids…_"

He left, and heard Rojas mutter something about sticking the fluids up his ass.

"Babysitting duty, huh?" Baird asked, his finger to his earpiece. "Nice, real nice, Mike. Asshole. Seriously. But there's something you gotta do for _me._"

"You aren't getting a pay raise, Damon," Mike said, his rough voice dripping with an accent he couldn't identify. "Except that warm fuzzy feeling you get when you help your Sergeant out, I mean."

"Fuck that. I meant _Rojas._"

"Yeah. Miserable, isn't he?"

"Babysit _him_ for me."

"And do what? Hold his head while he gets rid of whatever's in there? I can't do anything for him, man."

Baird glanced back down the hall, towards the bathrooms. The faint sound of retching could be heard. "Get him some fluids. I don't care if he can't keep it down, but if he doesn't stay hydrated it'll only get worse."

"Got it, Doc. Anything else?"

"Not yet, but I'll let you know, won't I?"

"You always do. Mike out."

* * *

Baird yawned, stretching his legs out in the APC a good forty miles away from their starting point. He and Cole had switched out a good ten minutes ago, leaving him free to just rest and observe. He tried not to observe Redshirt too much.

"Yo, man, don't get too cozy back there," Cole warned, maneuvering the APC over the unused streets and freeways. "Control just sent out a warnin' about shakes in the area."

Baird straightened up. "Well let's head to it, then. What are we waiting for?"

"Traffic," Cole said. There was no car in sight. "It's always that damn five o'clock traffic that bogs you down…"

"Or the flu," Redshirt piped up.

"Or the flu," Cole allowed.

"Hey, where's the shakes at?" Baird asked, leaning foreword to see out of the windshield.

"Up near that Stranded Camp, Lemonade."

Baird winced. "_Hate_ that name. Just because their water's yellow—"

"They could've called it Camp Piss," Redshirt offered, and threw in a weak little 'he-he-he' that grated on his nerves every time. _Don't say anything, it'll only encourage him._

Cole disregarded this thought that Baird had plastered so perfectly on his face. "Yeah, baby, that could be it, too."

They drove on in silence, with Redshirt on guns and Cole at the wheel, but at least now they had a destination and Cole had pressed the pedal down harder. Baird reloaded the Lancer, not because he was missing any but because it gave him a modicum of comfort to do so. He _hated_ fighting the damn grubs.

_Six years is long enough. I want to go home._

But he couldn't go home ever again. There'd be no smiles waiting for him at the doorway, so relieved that he'd made it through another tour of duty alive… no, home was just ashes, buried alongside the bones that had made it. Life, it seemed, was a bitch like that.

* * *

Lemonade got it's name from the yellow water that ran through the Camp's galvanized, rusted pipes. City repairmen came far and in-between, and never had they reached this particular camp. The water was apparently safe to drink, but that didn't mean Baird wanted to—he'd seen the yellow tint it had given the Stranded's clothes, hair, and teeth.

And it smelled fucking nasty, too.

Cole took a deep whiff. "Yup, we're here all right."

Redshirt, who'd probably never been outside of his own little suburban until he'd decided to enlist, said knowingly, "They need to clear out those pipes."

_Yeah, no shit, dumbass._

Baird bit his tongue, squinting out the windshield for any sign of Locust activity. "Control, are we close?" he asked, opening the link with a quick touch to his earpiece.

"The seismic activity is getting fainter," Stroud reported. She sounded chagrined. "It might've just been a false alarm, Alpha."

"No such thing as a false alarm," Baird muttered through his teeth. "Cole, take it slow. I'm gonna walk out and see if I get anything."

Theoretically speaking, the Locust couldn't penetrate Jacinto's granite terrain—that's what had kept them safe over the years, after all—but the further you got some the center of the city and the harder the Locusts pushed, sometimes they _were_ able to punch through. Forty percent of the time, which was close enough to fifty percent that he _had_ to take every little nudge for granted. It wasn't fun, even if he was wrong. That just meant they were about to attack somewhere _else._

He popped the passenger's side door and hopped out, hitting the ground with a thud he could feel up to his knees. Tired, wan faces of Stranded were looking up at the APC and at him with something resembling resigned frustration. Baird, his Lancer held loosely in his hands, followed the APC slowly on foot, trying not to notice.

He'd been born with a mild case of ADHD, something that was easy to control when he actually had something to concentrate on like a new piece of machinery or a new book. He'd pretty much grown out of it, but it had never left. He _tried_ to focus on the ground beneath his feet, feeling for any type of shake that would belay an E-hole, but their gazes made him feel naked. Stupid. Ridiculed.

His jaw set in a stubborn frown, he met their gazes with his own. Most had gone inside when they sighted the APC coming with the one Gear behind, but a few brave ones muttered things as he passed. Suddenly he was a schoolboy again, being ridiculed for the toilet paper hanging to his shoe…

He _hated_ this job. Absolutely positively hated it with every ounce of his being, but at least he was doing _something._ At least he was fighting and still able-bodied enough to complain about it. All the Stranded _ever_ did was complain, talk about their _rights…_

_Well, fuck them,_ Baird thought, trying to get his anger under control. _They can die for all I care._

A younger, inexperienced Damon Baird would've balked from the statement that came to his mind then. He would've thought he could _never_ get that vindictive, that… _uncaring._ The old Damon Baird would've been a mechanic one day, working on COG-knows-what to stop the Pendulum Wars. The old Damon Baird.

He lived in anger. He stewed in it, and let it boil. He'd take it out on others when, actually, he was just as lost himself. He was bitter, he was sarcastic, and he was gruff—something that seemed so _typical_ of everyday soldiers, only he actually excelled at it.

The Stranded were continuing to look at him, to whisper things behind his back. Suddenly, his earpiece crackled. "Don't let them get you down, Damon," Cole said quietly. "Concentrate."

"Not in the mood today, Cole…"

"I—" Cole broke off suddenly, and the APC halted. "Hold up a moment and look tough—Johnbot picking up some new readings."

"Yeah?" Baird asked curiously, leaning against the vehicle. "Anything that's going to make my fucking day or what?"

The ground under his feet shuddered. "Ah, shit, belay that last comment," Baird snapped. "Incoming!"

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, the ground in front of the APC exploded outwards, taking an old mini-van parked on the sidewalk with it. "Get out of the way!" he yelled, waving the Stranded back. No need—they ran for cover and for whatever weapons their sticky little hands could find.

Baird dropped to his knees behind the APC, spitting bullets at the first hand that attempted to claw its way to the surface.

A little boy on the sidewalk began to scream in earnest—maybe it was because of the Locusts, or maybe it was because of the dozen other trembles Baird could feel now, rocking his feet. "Ah, fuck." He hit the earpiece. "Control, we're gonna need backup!"

"Acknowled. I'm rerouting Theta to your position now. ETA ten minutes."

Directly behind him, the ground sunk. He sacrificed his hold on his weapon to drop two grenades in the open crevasse, ducking away when they exploded. A large piece of flying rock found his head, and he leaned against the vehicle for support, blind-firing at the first E-hole while he cleared the stars from his eyes. The steady burst from the APC's cannon was a steady mantra that brought him back around, and he blinked the blood out of his eyes.

Quicker than he would've believed possible, two more Emergence Holes opened up right behind the first, and the little screaming boy toppled into them.

"Backing up, Baird, taking too much fire!" Cole shouted. Baird grabbed hold of the back just in time, and somehow the former thrashball player managed to maneuver the vehicle around the E-hole behind them. Baird jumped off halfway down the road, rolling towards cover behind a smelly dumpster.

"Let's see if you like this, assholes," he muttered. He took off the grenade pin with his teeth and threw, counting the seconds until detonation…

It landed at the feet of four grubs, who saw it and dived for cover. Only one didn't make it, and Baird cursed. He grabbed the Lancer and took aim, firing quick double-taps in the enemies' general direction. He could still hear Redshirt firing that damn gun, but he wasn't _hitting_ anything…

The grubs were getting closer, spitting bullets at running Stranded. A man running by his cover was hit square in the back, his momentum carrying him still farther before he fell to the ground. He attempted to get up only once, then lay still.

"We won't _last_ ten minutes, Stroud!" Baird barked, ducking back behind cover. Even as he said it, he heard the sharp metallic _tink _of metal-on-metal. His eyes widened in comprehension, and he looked around for the grenade, backing out of cover as fast as possible.

Just in time. The grenade blew inside the dumpster, and trash rained from the sky like some child's imitation of the well-known idiom. Something dark and slimy trickled down his neck, but Baird couldn't spare a hand to wipe it away—he was running for the next available cover, a car across the street, as fast as his legs would carry him.

He felt a bullet pierce his armor, but it didn't go through. He kept running, then jumped. He landed in a roll, right behind the taillights. He leaned out and returned fire, then had the satisfaction of watching a grub topple back into his hole.

"Fuck. You," he muttered.

A movement next to him caught his eye, right from under the car. He spared only a passing glance—only a Stranded girl, maybe six, huddling under the car.

"He tried to count how long the fight had already been. Five minutes? Seven? He forced his mind to think logically—only two minutes. _Fuck_, it always felt longer than that.

He leaned out of cover again and fired another salvo. The grubs were gaining on them.

"Hang on, I'm coming." It was Cole's voice in his ear. Baird wanted to tell him to make sure Red didn't do anything stupid, like drive the APC into a building, but he couldn't say it on an open comm. He glanced back to see the driver's side door open, a tall, dark man hopping out. "It's go time, baby."

Baird would've replied, but he noticed a shadow getting close. He twisted around, just in time to see the grub coming at him, gun raised.

Pain ripped into his left shoulder, propelling him backwards. Even as he fell, he fired at the Locust, tearing its' head to shreds. "Ah, fuck," he muttered, flat on his back. He hissed in pain. "Ah, _fuck."_

He looked underneath the car to see anymore feet approaching, and his eyes met the girl's. Gray met ice, wide and fearful, but she didn't cry and for that he was glad. "There's no more coming," she whispered, as if she knew exactly what he was thinking.

He let out a breath. "Good—"

"_Boom._"

The entire top of the car disintegrated in the blast, and the girl screamed, covering her head with her hands. With an effort, Baird rolled over and, with his good arm, grabbed her by the scruff of the neck and pulled her out of the wreckage. He scrambled to his feet and took the girl's hand, running into one of the side buildings.

Outside, the car exploded.

The shockwave broke out the rest of the windows in the small shop, knocking Baird into a dusty counter. "Cole!" he shouted.

"I'm trying to get to you, Baird, sit tight!"

He hit his earpiece. "Control, where are those reinforcements?!"

"Five more minutes, Alpha," Stroud said, exasperated. "I'm trying to find them a faster way to get to you."

"Hey, 'Gus!" Redshirt yelled over the link, his voice cracking over their headpieces. "Baird was hit, I saw it!"

"Keep it _down_, Red," Baird growled. His accusation had brought the pain to mind again, and suddenly he needed to switch to the back-up pistil. "Yes, I'm _hit._ Happy now?"

Baird heard the chainsaw on the other end of the line, and supposed the Cole was too busy to respond. He turned to the girl and gestured for her to hide behind the counter. He crouched behind the shattered window, taking a bead on the grubs. He pulled the trigger eight times, pumping round after round into the closest one.

They were only ten meters away. Too damn close for his liking.

He could see the Boomer, lagging behind all the others. "Hey, can _somebody_ take out that Boomer before I have to get up and do it myself?" he asked sarcastically.

"I got it!" Red's too-enthusiastic voice cracked the earpiece again, and the Boomer went down a few seconds later.

"Good. Now keep firing."

He twisted his head to check the streets again, making sure Red was doing exactly what he told him to… then paused. His Lancer was missing.

_Fucking kid!_

"Kid! Where'd you go?" he bellowed. No answer. "_Kid! _Ah, _shit._ Cole, some kid just took my Lancer. Where you at?"

Cole's laugh made the comm crack. "Are you for real, Baird?"

"Shut the fuck up and get over here," Baird snarled, whipping his head around. No sign of the girl. She must've disappeared out the back door.

_Fuck. Dammit. Fuck._

"And this is what I get for saving your life, you little thief?" he muttered to himself. He took out another grub with the pistil and ducked underneath cover again when it got too hot. "Fine, then, if _that's_ how you're going to play it…"

Then he noticed the stairs leading up to the second landing, hidden away behind the countertop… and then he realized that the shots he'd assumed to be Cole was coming from _above_ him…

He wasn't in throwing distance of a grenade, so he just kept shooting as he backed up behind the countertop, and stopped when they were out of sight.

Making sure to keep his left arm as still as possible, Baird thundered up the stairs.


	2. On Stealing Lancers

_Minor revision: Sept 07, 2009_

_

* * *

  
_

Cole reloaded, dropping to one knee behind his cover and spraying a wide arc of fire only accentuated by Redshirt's long chain of APC gunfire. "Yo, baby, don't waste all that ammo, now," Cole said. Beside his large feet was a trail of intestines—denizens of his latest hack 'n slash. "Our backup here might take offense if we slot 'em all before they have a chance to rub it in our faces."

"Hey, if they snooze they lose, right, Gus?"

Yes, _somehow_ Red was going to get better. He _knew_ it. "Yeah, Red, I guess so."

Red's laugh echoed over the comm, but at least it wasn't punctuated by the ever-constant stream of APC fire. _It helps to aim, baby._ "Can you believe Baird got his Lancer stolen by a…"

Red cut off, his _a_ trailing off in disbelief.

Cole's danger sense went off. "A what, Red?"

The APC fire suddenly redoubled. "Maulers," he said, his voice pitched a little higher. Cole's stomach dropped. "We got Maulers."

"How many?

"Three…"

Cole popped out of cover to take a look for himself. Yep, there were three all right... and somehow they'd figured out exactly where he was. He revved the chainsaw in frustration, and let fly a few rounds at the lead one's feet. "About time, I was thinking this was _Basic_ again…" he muttered.

* * *

The stairs behind the counter led up to a second story room and balcony probably once used for a semi-fancy dinner for the lower-income families of Sera. The room itself was small, but the balcony attached provided Baird with a nice view of the attacking Locusts below him… but no girl. Adrenaline blocked out the pain in his shoulder, and he found himself turning around in a slow circle just to make sure she wasn't in a small corner waiting to ambush the stupid, idiotic Gear.

She was nowhere.

"No way in hell," he muttered through his teeth. He pressed his back against the wall leading off to the balcony, checking the sides—still no girl, but three Maulers were advancing towards Cole's newest position, their metal collapsible shields protecting them from the continued Armadillo assault barrage. He had almost no chance of downing them with a pistil, or at least none and still being able to keep his position. He switched the comm open again. "Cole—"

There was a brief _crack-crack-crack _noise from above him, sounding just as a spray of arterial blood arced from the nearest Mauler's neck. Hardly daring to believe his ears, Baird nearly had to stop himself from coming out into the open and glancing up towards the roof.

_That's impossible. How in the fucking _hell_ did she get up there without being seen?_

She was, as Hoffman would put, _crazy_. As in _bat-shit._

"Kid!" he yelled. "Kid, gimme back my gun!"

There was no answer, but the Lancer had fallen silent.

"I _mean it!_ Don't make me come up there—"

There was a sliding, rickety sound and the Lancer thudded to the ground—but still no girl. Still squatting, he retrieved it and reloaded. The clip was empty. "You are _so_ fucking lucky I'm in a good mood today, little bitch," Baird muttered to himself, too low for her to hear if she was where he thought she was. "Fuck this."

He slipped on to his belly, switching the Lancer to semi-automatic, and inched out on to the balcony. Peering between the fancy black railing, he sighted up on the neck of the lead Mauler. _Those things don't protect your ass,_ Baird thought, and it was with a savage pleasure that he let loose a stream of bullets into the baddie's cranial. The Mauler fell with a thump he could hear even from his position. Judging by the way it landed, it seemed to have landed on its' own metal flail.

Wouldn't that be great?

"Woo-hoo!" Cole cried. "Baby, from now on _that's how you shoot._ You got that? Or is that your girlfriend?"

Baird growled something low and deep in his throat. "That was _me,_ dumbass."

Cole was still laughing over the line, but Red had finally managed to penetrate the Mauler's defenses with his giant gun. When they'd turned around to face this new threat that had so easily downed their buddie—grubs thought the same, they just had varying degrees of intelligence, Baird thought—Red had taken advantage and pumped a few in the fleshy meat of the next one's shoulders. It hung there for a moment, suspended in a sort of crouching dance, and joined his dead comrade.

The last one would've won a medal for Pure Stupidity in a civilized world… or at least had an honorable mention in a military tactics book. Shield still in hand, flail swining, it ran for Cole… and Redshirt's salvo, plus his own, brought it to its' knees. While Red finished it off, Baird turned his fire to the surrounding grubs.

There were still ten left, it looked like, and most of the Stranded in Camp Lemonade had either run or were dead. Baird realized he'd been hoping for _help_ from these people, help in protecting their own fucking _homes…_

_Cowards. They're all cowards._

Compared to the beginning of the battle, the end was almost easy. He could tell they had turned the tide when the Maulers went down and the grubs began their retreat. He picked them off with Cole and Red one-by-one, not even thinking about his kills anymore. He was just _angry—_angry at the Stranded, angry at the girl, angry at his own life.

The war was never, ever going to end.

When the guns went silent, he lay there for a moment, breathing hard. The adrenaline had erased the pain in his shoulders, but it was starting to come back, dull and throbbing. He leaned his back against the wall and fumbled at his belt for some dressings.

"That wasn't even fun," Cole complained.

"Control, we're clear. Divert assistance. I'm out," Baird said into the mike, then took it out of his ear altogether to press the point in. He glanced at his shoulder; it wasn't too bad, and it hadn't torn any important muscles. Despite looking like pulled meat, he supposed he could live with it with enough painkillers.

He set the Lancer down to banadage it, and as soon as he did a small voice from above him said, "I'm sorry."

He jumped, the bandages falling out of his hands as he reached for his Lancer. But there was no need—the little girl was hanging upside-down from one of the support poles of the roof. Her long, black ponytail fell vertically, swaying in the light breeze, and her gray eyes were tense with anticipation. From her cheerful-looking almond eyes (though they looked anything but cheerful now) and the tan skin hyper-fit people always had, he recognized her as a Pesenga.

At least she had an excuse for being bat-shit crazy. Pesenga shock troopers were scary, crafty bastards.

_I'm sorry._ Did that mean anything to him anymore? Did he even give a _damn_ about her apology?

"I only wanted to help," she said in a smaller voice. Her face was beginning to go red as all the blood rushed to it.

He only did what was natural—he glared at her. "I don't give a fuck," he said. "Get your skinny ass off of that thing and run off like every other fucking Stranded out there." Her eyes glazed over with tears. "Get off. _Now."_

Slowly, trembling, the little Pesenga Stranded flipped herself over and dropped soundlessly to the ground. She was tall, skinny, and athletic for her age, which had to be either six or seven. Right now, though, she only looked small and defeated. "I'm sorry I stole it—I just wanted to help," she repeated.

Baird pointed an eloquent finger towards the stairs.

"I… I have a right to help," she said in a possibly even smaller voice.

"Ah, _fuck_, kid," Baird said, exasperated. "I'm telling you to _leave_, so _leave—_"

The little girl cringed at his words, but the tears never fell. "I can't go anywhere," she whispered brokenly.

Baird looked away for a long moment, out towards Red's APC and towards the COG base. His frustration with the girl wasn't just because she stole his Lancer—it was with everything else that had happened for the past six years. _It's coming to a boil,_ Baird thought. He'd seen the battle rage take a lot of good soldiers and make them into something they didn't want to be. He'd seen them do a _lot_ of crazy things…

He forced himself to take steady, deep breaths. Old defensive tactics came into play, and he said quietly, "I don't care. Just get out of my sight."

The little Pesenga girl with the gray eyes stiffened as if stung, and hurried away. She was still trembling.

And Baird leaned back against the wall and tried to sum up how much of a jackass he was at this moment.

* * *

Cole couldn't get Baird on the radio, but that was normal—whenever the man was _particularly_ pissed off with the general establishment, he tended to take out his earpiece in a strictly unprofessional manner and swear a blue streak big enough to fill the sky with color. At least, that's how Cole preferred to see it, and Baird _did_ seem PO'd during the fight.

Cole found himself shaking his head at his teammate's own density from his safe point in the Armadillo and deigned to wait it out. The poor guy was probably still looking for his damned Lancer…

_Shit, a kid took it. He'll never have a nice day again, man._

Behind him, still on turrets, Red was humming a song to himself as he usually did when they finished their assignments. _And we're still on patrol,_ Cole realized.

Oh well. You get some and you lose some, he supposed. He checked the clock. 0830, and the contact had started at 0815. Cole snorted; those reinforcements never even got to them on time. He switched to Control's frequency; "Yo, Anya, you'll have to nail down the time a little better than that."

"Excuse me, Cole?"

"I thought you said our ass-savers were gonna be here in ten, not fifteen!"

Anya's voice was a little chagrined when she answered, "Apologies, Private. I was being optimistic."

"Optimistic," he scoffed. "Optimistic my ass, ma'am."

Anya let out a small laugh. "I'll make it up to you when you get back. Beer on me."

Cole graced her with a light chuckle. Anything to keep the team moral up... and because beer tasted awful good after a patrol."Now _that's_ motivation. You should do public speaking…"

"Not into it that much, but thanks for the support," she said drily. "Now let's try proper radio procedure, unless you want to get me fired."

_As if they'd fire you... _Cole chuckled. "Thank you kindly, ma'am. Cole out."

He was still chuckling when Red asked, "So… are you and her, like, together?"

Cole's eyes widened comically, and he twisted around in his seat to glance up at Red's legs. "Are you kidding me?" He let out a loud laugh that would've startled a few birds a mile or so away. "No, no, baby, she's all _look and don't touch,_ you know what I'm saying?"

"I don't know," Red said wistfully. "She's kinda good-looking."

"Don't even think about going there, baby," Cole warned. "Hoffman'll skin you alive just for a laugh if you go for her." Red gave an incredulous laugh. "You think I'm joking. I ain't."

"Seriously?"

"_Dead_ serious. He doesn't like anybody farting around with her unless _she_ farts around with them first."

Red whistled. "Talk about overprotective…"

Cole could still see back to the old high-school thrashball days—overprotective fathers, rebellious daughters, and alcohol. A _lot_ of _alcohol._ He could still remember the day when he'd taken his girlfriend to the school dance—picked her up in his dad's nice car and showed her the beer in the back. Her dad had counted every one of them, measured their amount, and said, on no uncertain terms, than none of those beers was to be even cracked open.

You learned a lot in high school. A _lot._

Cole whistled tunelessly, keeping an ear out for Baird. There was movement near the entrance of the building, and he focused on it. Who came out, though, was not who he expected.

_I think I found your thief, Damon baby,_ Cole thought. "Yo, man, I'm gonna go check this out," he told Red, who'd let out a click in the back of his throat at the new girl's arrival. "Don't let them get my ass, 'kay?"

* * *

**Camp Lemonade – 0834**

Darrina didn't know _what_ she felt when she left that Gear on top of her family's old balcony. She just stuffed her hands in her armpits against the chill weather and tried to get out of there as fast as a speedwalk would allow… but where could she go?

The Stranded would come back and resettle Camp Lemonade, she knew, but she couldn't stand it. She couldn't stand to see another grub hole, another vibration that may or may not open up into a hole that would make her fall down their stupid grub tunnels…

She didn't want to _die._ Not like Mom had… and so it was probably safe to say she had Locustphobia.

Her tenuous link to her self-control was slipping, and it was all she could do to keep putting one foot in front of the other. There was a sudden noise out towards the road and the APC ahead of her, and she jumped, startled. A big, dark, and muscular man had climbed out, his Lancer held nonchalantly in his great big hands. She stared at him wide-eyed and felt herself slow down a little.

She wasn't prepared for his reaction. His mouth twisted a little, and he suddenly gave out a barking laugh. "_You_ stole the Lancer? Aw, man, Baird must be slipping…"

She swallowed, recoiling when he drew closer. He stopped immediately, the humored look on his face suddenly becoming more careful. "Hey, girl, it's okay, I don't want to hurt you…"

"Why not?" she bit out. She was probably being a bit too confrontational, but she was _seven._ She had an excuse.

"I ain't that type of guy." He knelt to the ground, but he was still taller than her. She shuddered to think of the type of abuse he could dish out with those bulging muscles of his. "I only save it for the grubs. Understand?"

"Everybody says that," she said. "And they never mean it. Gears are all dumb anyway."

There was a lie in her voice near the end, though, and she could tell he picked up on it. Her cheeks were pink with embarrassment. "I'm probably not that bright," he agreed cheerfully. "But I know the difference between right and wrong."

"I only took it to _help_," she explained, her voice climbing high in a small whine. "He was hurt, and I didn't want…" Darrina trailed off, tears in her eyes.

The big man looked her in the eyes, and she couldn't help but wonder what was in store for you next. What _else_ was going to happen. "Why you running from here?" he asked finally.

"To get away," she mumbled. No, she couldn't explain what was going inside her head. Just thinking about it made it worse… "I've always been on my own, haven't I?"

"Your parents are dead?" he asked softly.

Darrina nodded mutely.

The large man smiled sadly. "Yeah, baby, mine, too." She didn't answer, and shied away from his hand when he offered it to her. "My name's Augustus, but most people call me Cole. Can you tell me your name, baby?"

"Darrina," she muttered.

His eyebrows lifted slightly in response, his mouth opening just a little. "That's a nice name. How old are you?"

"Seven," she said cautiously. "But I'm gonna be eight soon."

How could this man, Cole, sit here and discuss these stupid things such as her age when the Locusts could pop back up at any time? Darrina always had an overactive imagination, but now it was in overdrive. She could picture the Locusts, the vibrations betraying their arrival, of a hole erupting right from under her, sinking her under the ground. She began to tremble, and a dry sob escaped her throat.

"You're a brave little girl," Cole said, and reached out a little further towards her hand. She took it. "Maybe we can find you a place near base. Hoffman owes me a few personal favors…"

She nodded mutely, and the tears finally overflowed. Cole drew her into him, and she didn't know why that made her sob harder. "Please," she whispered, "I wanna get out of here. _Please._"

She could feel him vibrate when he spoke. "Gotta wait for Baird, baby."

There was no doubt in her mind who _Baird_ was. She felt a shiver of loathing tingle down her spine. "He's mean," she whispered. "He yelled at me…"

"He yells at everybody, don't take it personal, Darrina—he's just havin' trouble adjusting, is all. Can you tell me where he got hit?"

"Um… on the shoulder. But he's okay, he was still shooting, and he can walk…"

"That's good, that's just what I wanted to hear," he soothed. It seemed like a long time until he said, even softer, "Do you want to come back to base with us, baby? Would you like that?"

She nodded against his chest.

"Got any pets you need to bring?"

"Not anymore."

"Anybody else that'll miss you?"

She considered for a moment, and shook her head. _Better let them all think I'm dead anyway,_ she thought bitterly. The only memories she had of Camp Lemonade were those she was willing to bury for a long, long time.

* * *

**Glencourt Hospital, Ephyra – 0900**

Even though Camp Lemonade was technically within Jacinto's borders, the Glencourt Hospital in the surrounding city of Ephyra was still closer. It was with ill grace that Baird sat on the examination table and let Doctor Stabler poke and prod at the hole in his shoulder, but he wasn't going to complain. On another examination table to the side lay Baird's armor, bloodstained from the recent battle, leaving him in just his muscle shirt and the pair of cargo pants he'd worn to sleep.

_I should've seen him coming. My fault, I lost focus. Did you expect the girl to help you? No, and when she tried it was too late. Pay fucking attention next time._

He kept telling himself that, but the world had taken on a distant type of view as soon as the Doc had administered the morphine. Oh, he could _feel _him rooting around in his shoulder with a pair of army-issue tweezers just looking for the few rounds of metal that had sliced into his arm, but the morphine had dulled the nerves just enough that that was _all_ he could feel.

It dulled a lot of the other pain, too.

But even then, Baird couldn't help but wonder where exactly that little girl had wandered off to… another casualty of war?

Cole stood off to the side, arms crossed. "He going to be alright, Doc?"

Baird kept staring straight ahead, slouched over in his usual way. He was _hungry_, he realized.

"No permanent injury." _See? Told you so, Cole._ "But if the rounds stay in there, he'll be a bright little ray of sunshine by this time tomorrow. Those things carry all types of diseases I don't even like to think about."

"That's your job, Doc." Somehow, Baird managed to find his voice. "If you can't do it, you ain't suited for it."

"Don't mind him," Cole said, "he's grumpy by definition."

"My ass," Baird mumbled.

Damn, the morphine was making him _sleepy._ He was sure the Doc had given him enough just to take the edge off the pain… He couldn't stop himself from yawning, and heard Doc Stabler sigh next to him. The Doc was a tall man with graying brown hair that was still, even in this cesspit, trimmed and well-groomed. "Well, he'll sleep pretty good this afternoon," he said ruefully.

"Good idea," Baird said. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Stabler take out a disinfectant spray.

"If everything's cool me and Red are gonna finish rounds," Cole said, jerking his thumb behind him. "Yell if you need anything, Damon baby."

Baird was eying the disinfectant spray apprehensively. Stabler laughed. "I'm sure you'll hear it."

Baird tensed at the sting, but it didn't hurt as much as it should have. He let out a big breath. "Fuck…"

Stabler took out a small needle and held it up to his eye to check for air bubbles. He flicked it with his finger and moved it towards Baird's neck. "What the fuck is that for?" he asked cautiously.

Stabler didn't answer, but depressed the needle firmly into the side of his carteroid artery. Baird's lips were shaping to give him a verbal, colorful tell-off, but they never got the chance. The doctor caught him as he fell foreword and pushed him back on to the examination table, but Baird was too far gone to care.

* * *

"Okay, remind me again _why_ we brought the girl with us without telling Damon," Redshirt said, falling into step behind Cole as they walked out of the hospital.

Cole only shook his head. "Damon's a funny dude, Red," he explained, angling for the Armadillo they'd placed across the street. "And the poor girl feels bad enough as it is. You really think she could've taken it without a fight breaking out?"

Cole had hidden Darrina behind Red the entire way there, invisible to anybody in the front seats. "Don't think I like doin' it," Cole said, quieter now. "But she's had enough, don't you think?"

"I don't know, seeing as I've never _met her,_" Red shot back. He looked very, very uncomfortable with this new dilemma, and it showed—he had never snapped at Cole before, and it took him by surprise. "Fuck, she could be siphoning off the gas, escaped with our guns… She already took his _Lancer!"_

"Calm it, Red," Cole said. "If you're gonna make an ass outta yourself, then you can walk back, okay? But I _like_ this girl."

It was as direct as he'd been with anybody in a while, and it immediately shut Red up. Cole was the ultimate team player, and deviance from that aspect surprised him, too.

_I'll make it up to him later._

Sure enough, when the two men climbed into the APC the girl was still there, fast asleep. Her eyes opened at the sudden noise, but there was no disorientation. She knew _exactly_ where she was, and why. "Have a nice nap?" Cole quipped, putting the keys into the ignition. She nodded shyly, moving away obediently when Red moved to take the gunner's position. "C'mon, kid, you can sit up front if you want. It's pretty crowded back there."

"I'm fine," she mumbled.

Cole shrugged and turned back around, easing slowly out on to the freeway. "Can you be quiet for me real quick then, Dar? I'm going to give Control an update on Damon."

She nodded. "Okay," she whispered. She lay down in the backseat behind the spare ammo supplies and curled her legs to her chest, staring morosely at the front wall. Since she wasn't hiding anymore, Cole could see her perfectly, and that one movement of hers was enough to knock him in the emotional chest.

_Sorry, baby._

"Yo, Anya, you there?"

It took a second for her to respond. "Here, Cole. Doctor Stabler already informed us of Baird's condition, and Hoffman says to pick him up at the end of your rounds."

Cole chuckled. "Yes, ma'am. Anything closer to Jacinto open? We're low on ammo, see…"

"I'd like for you to take the route you're on now, actually, Cole," Anya said. She seemed further away from the mike, as if she was reaching for something. "Theta is still close by, I'll contact them and see if they can do a dual patrol—"

"That might not work out, baby," Cole said.

Anya was quiet for several seconds, and Cole was aware he had stepped into dangerous ground. "Is there something wrong, Alpha?"

"Nothing at all, Control," Cole replied airily. "I'm requesting a reroute closer to Jacinto. You can knock off that beer you so kindly offered."

"O_kay,_" Anya said evenly, with the slightest hint of confusion in her voice. "Take the patrol going in and out of Brookfield and Blackrock."

"Thank you kindly, ma'am."

"You know you're still obligated to pick up Baird, Cole…"

"Yes, ma'am. I'll go pick him up myself."

"Roger that. Control out."

Cole kept on driving, allowing the smirk to cross his face. "Nobody plays this game like me, nobody."

"I hope we don't get written up on a charge," Red said nervously.

Cole didn't even hear Darrina crawl over the supplies in the back, but suddenly she was in the front seat. "Are you guys in trouble?" she asked, looking up at him with large gray eyes.

He laughed out loud. "'Course not, baby. I'm just being _political._"

Cole knew Red was going to say something—or wanted to—but thankfully he kept his mouth shut. Cole switched gears and sped down the deserted highway. Things were quiet for a long time before Darrina asked, "What's going to happen to me now?"

"I'm bringin' you into Jacinto," Cole explained. "There's a camp near Command, safe as can be. No Locust has _ever _penetrated _that_ shit, lemme tell you. Pure granite bedrock."

"Everybody's always wanted to go there," Darrina muttered. She didn't seem happy or excited by the prospect, just weary. Too weary for a seven-year-old. "Thank you."

"Yeah, yeah… no problem."


	3. Headquarters

_Minor revisions, Sept 07 2009_

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **Thank you, _thank you_ for all the reviews! I can't believe I have fifteen! You guys have been awesome, and thanks so much for following my story. :) Thanks so much to Jord, ita-chan01, and pictureperfexi0n for following the story from the start, and everybody else. You've all made it so much fun to write.

There's just a few things I want to point out in this chapter. I know it's starting to look like it's focusing on Cole, but don't worry, I'm still focusing on Baird. Cole is sorely needed for this part, and TBH he's my favorite character to write for.

Also, Darrina is a Pesenga. I didn't want to use words like 'Japanese' or 'Chinese' to describe her, because there are no Asians by that name. So she's Peseng. Remember that! :P Tyran is like Caucasion, but I don't know what African would be. =\ So I'm just going to say Cole is Tyran, too.

This chapter was really fun to write, mostly spurred on because my friend of a few years is getting a horror novella published! :D Yay for him!

And now, on to the story…

* * *

**Jacinto, 1020**

The first inkling of troublecame when Control rerouted them to Isor Avenue, which ran in parallel directions to one of the roads leading out of base. It only cemented in Cole's mind when Control relieved them of patrol duty and switched them out for another squad. They were ordered to park the APC in the holding areas and rest up for another shift in two days' time.

Darrina didn't ask for confirmation, but climbed back over the seats and buried herself under a pile of parts. The air inside the APC was tense and silent, and Cole could feel a trickle of unease wash over him as he worked out several different plans in his head.

They were taken off of patrol, which meant they couldn't get Darrina into the Stranded Camp without some real heavy-duty covert operations. The APC was free for use, so another squad could come and take the Armadillo before they could get to it again. If they found her…

_She's small enough to hide in the pens, isn't she?_

Cole did a quick mental calculation, and figured it was probably the best way. She'd have to wait for the other squads to leave or have their backs turned, though… there was a tiny alcove hidden away from sight near the gas fuselage. It had a retractable door, but nothing was ever stowed in it—and as far as he knew, it was almost always locked.

"Yo, kid, can you pick locks?"

Her voice was slightly muffled. "Yeah, some of them."

"Okay," he muttered. The door didn't have a keyhole, he remembered. If it was controlled remotely…

_You got yourself in some deep shit, Gus._

"Any ideas, Red?" he asked quietly.

The newbie hissed. "None. We're fucked."

Cole pursed his lips, trying to keep the speed to a bare minimum as he drove to the garage. The Armadillo glided easily into a parking space, and he took his time disengaging the keys from the locks to scan the area for any other Gears. "I'm sorry for getting you into trouble," Darrina whispered.

Somehow, her quiet little voice brought him back to game status again. "Pfft, I ain't in no trouble," he said. He opened the car door. "The Train is a _smooth_ ride…"

"So what are we going to do?" Red asked in a hard voice.

"Nothing," Cole said. He dropped to the ground and reached in for the backup he'd kept on the dashboard, putting it on its' holster. "Yo, Dar, c'mon out and look cute, okay?"

He heard Red's sudden hiss, but Cole only grinned at him when he climbed down from the turret; his pale, waxen face looked almost translucent. "Show her to Anya?" he asked. Darrina scrambled out behind him and hopped to the ground. "Might be best."

Cole shook his head. "I gotta take her to Hoffman, baby. Might as well get the worst over with, you know? But if you don't wanna take it, you can go check in with Mike."

Red blew out a breath. "You're _really_ pushing it, Cole Train. They _said_—"

Cole waved his hand, breaking him off mid-sentence. "Listen, Red baby, I _know_. But just keep it cool, alright? I can _handle_ this."

"Fine. I'll stick with you," Red said, wincing at his own words.

Cole studied his face carefully, then nodded. "Okay, now that ain't so hard to say, is it?" He turned to Darrina, who was looking wide-eyed at all the Armadillos parked in their space. It must've looked like a gold mine to a Stranded, but then he noticed how her eyes danced over the more mechanical aspects, following the gears and wires to their core. To Cole it just looked like a pimped-up not-so-tiny van, but she was obviously seeing something much, much different.

He had to struggle to remember that the most high-tech thing she'd probably ever seen in Camp Lemonade was a shower with clear water.

"You awake, kid?"

Darrina nodded, and pointed to the Armadillos. "How many do you guys have?" she asked.

"A bit," Rec said, unwillingly throwing himself into the conversation. Cole winked at him. "They keep breaking down, and we can't replace them fast enough."

"So _fix_ them," she said, as if that was the easiest thing in the world.

Cole laughed, and he even saw Red's eyes crinkle up a bit. "We'll get right on that, baby," Cole said, still chuckling.

Darrina's face was a study of confusion. "Did I say something wrong?"

"Well," Red said, his eye-crinkle turned into a genuine smile, "it's pretty hard to fix them when they get blown up on a regular basis."

"But aren't they armored?"

"Armor don't protect you from everything," Cole said. "Just look at Damon over there at that hospital…"

_Damon._ Who was going to pick him up, now? Cole's grin became wider when he imagined Baird's irritation as discovering he'd helped the same Stranded girl that stole his Lancer.

"But he wasn't wearing the arm parts," Darrina said. "You don't, either, but _he_ does." She pointed at Red.

"Restricts your movement too much," Cole said, placing a hand on her shoulder. They began to walk towards the elevator that would take them up to Control, where Hoffman presided in the early hours of the day. He hit the button to take them up, and the doors closed. Cole suddenly felt the need to warn her. "Baby, Hoffman's a scary dude, but he ain't gonna hurt you, okay?"

Darrina frowned and nodded. "I know," she said. Then she looked up at him a grinned toothily. "You're nice, and you wouldn't put up with him if he was mean. You would've dumped me on the road if you didn't think things would be okay here."

Red's eyebrows rose in surprise, and Cole felt his jaw drop an inch. That was… _astute._ She was a smart girl, able to judge the people around her… He wondered if it was some sort of Pesanga precognition. It wasn't exactly _unheard of_, and the tales of the omniscient warriors from their traditional country had pervaded almost every corner of Sera. They usually kept to themselves, though, so only the select few that knew them could and would attest to their uniqueness.

Pesengas had a deep, spiritual connection with the land. It wasn't just the usual 'say your prayers before meals and bedtime.' It was a focus of some sort of mystical energy they believed to be inside every person. Strengthening that energy gave them great control over their body in ways only a professional athlete could.

He felt sorry for all the Pesengas that had died on E-Day. They could sure use those men now.

Darrina didn't say anything else to him, and for that he was glad. He just entertained himself by watching her, filing away her profile so he could recognize her later among the Stranded. She became possibly stiller as they ascended, and he distinctly heard her take a deep breath. To steady herself?

Cole looked over at Red, who had been doing the same thing. He was looking at her with slight wonder to his features. She was unique, an oddity in this Tyran-dominated society.

In truth, Cole had not only planned to bring Darrina to Hoffman just to get the worst over with—scuttlebutt was saying Hoffman had worked with those spiritual mystics before and had thrown a hell of a tantrum when one of his fallen shock troopers hadn't been allowed to get the Embry Star because his nation hadn't been _eligible._ It probably explained why he'd never made it past Colonel.

The elevator doors opened, and the three slipped out to allow three others in. He recognized the one in the lead, Nick Fuller of Omicron, and nodded. Nick only gave the little Stranded girl a confused look that lasted until the doors closed to separate them.

Cole led the two towards Control, passing more and more Gears on their way through the residential areas. It was obvious who had just come off of patrol—their eyes were bleary from lack of sleep, their armor bloodied, or smelled like engine exhaust. Cole shouldered his way past them, patting a few he recognized on the back, and led the way to the pavilion.

"This is a _big _place," Darrina muttered.

"Yup," Cole said, nodding.

"It's hard to believe most of this stuff is still standing, considering the state of the rest of the city," Red put in.

"The rest of the city is okay," Darrina said. "Or at least mine was. We were civilized."

"Then how come nobody helped us out when the E-Holes broke out?" Cole countered.

"I never said they were great people," she muttered. "I hated them, especially after my parents died."

It was a frank statement, and it was terrifying. "You never told us that story," Red said, ascending the steps that led to Control. "Do you want to?"

"It happened, and it's over," Darrina said gruffly. Her shoulders had tensed up. "There's no story."

"Relax, baby, we were just asking," Cole placated, patting her shoulder with one large hand. "We don't wanna make you remember the bad stuff."

Darrina nodded, softening. "Okay," she said. "Thanks."

"Hey, no prob," he said. "Any time."

They were outside the doors, and out of the corner of his eye he saw Red throw him a covert glance as he opened it.

* * *

Control was _huge._ Bigger than anything Darrina had ever seen. There were computer screens everywhere, but there weren't many people manning them. Most talked in slow, even voices as they directed the Gears to _this_ place or _that_ checkpoint. Darrina noted that there were more women than men there, and she thought she knew why. Slowly but surely, women were being weeded out of the ranks to make babies or do something that wasn't too dangerous.

With the way the war seemed to be going, Darrina guessed that they'd need their ladies sooner or later.

Cole shepherded her towards a short, surly-looking Tyran in the far corner. He was hunched over some sort of report, a cap with the DeathSkull emblem fitting tightly over his head. "With all due respect, sir," Cole said in a low, even voice.

Hoffman looked up, his eyes focusing on her immediately. They were a pale, pale blue, the color of faded jeans, and the force of them made her lean harder into Cole's hand. "Yes, Private?" he asked gruffly.

"Sir, we met this girl at Camp Lemonade," Cole said. "You got a moment?"

Hoffman nodded, turning in his seat to get a better look at them.

"My name's Darrina," she said, sensing that this was the right thing to do. She held out her hand politely, and when Hoffman took it it disappeared.

"Nice name," he said slowly, eying her up. Darrina felt a pale shiver of fear cross her stomach. "Colonel Hoffman."

"Yes, sir."

"Camp Lemonade was hit by the grubs, sir," Cole said, his voice strengthening. "Me and Red were stuck in the APC, but Baird was out. He saved her life, and she helped us out big with everything, sir. She's been an asset, and she's real nice. Can't we find some place for her to stay?"

Hoffman blinked, and Darrina and Red stiffened at the same time. Hoffman's pale eyes flitted to her one more time, then rested on Cole. He pointed at Red. "Rook, take the girl to get something to eat." It was an order, no matter how softly said, and Darrina felt Red tense up.

"Yes, sir!" Redshirt snapped off a smart-looking salute and took Darrina's hand, dragging her away. Her heart pounding, she glanced helplessly over her shoulder at Cole, but he and Hoffman were engaged in a staring match, and for once Cole wasn't smiling.. "He's going to get in so much _trouble,_" Red muttered.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. Red's hand was crushing her own. He pulled her along roughly down the stairs, breathing hard. He pulled her down the stairs into the pavilion, and her feet twisted in each other. She fell down the stone steps, or would've had Red let go. Her arm was twisted above her head, holding her upright, and her legs were splayed in two different directions. She could feel the tears coming on. "I'm _sorry._"

Red dropped her arm, and she lay on the stairs, panting. She got to her feet slowly, avoiding her Red's eyes—that was just as well, because he was looking the other way. He seemed to be on the verge of a panic attack.

She could feel her heart beating, her limbs shaking. _I wanna go home,_ she thought desperately. She didn't like these Gears and their pushy, abusive ways.

Red seemed to gain control of himself. "Lunchtime," he said crisply, leading her along. This time he didn't take her hand, trusting her to follow directly behind. She followed, gingerly rubbing at the parts of her arms that were bruised.

He led her to a large mess hall and picked the closest empty table. "_Stay here,"_ he ordered, and went to get their lunch. Darrina put her head down in her hands, refusing to look at the Gears who looked at her so curiously. Redshirt returned only a few minutes later with a plate laden with chicken legs and a tomato soup. She dug in ravenously, forgetting where she was for a few brief moments as she hurried to get the food into her mouth.

_Bliss._ It was bliss.

She couldn't remember the last time she had a full meal. Sure, there were plenty of nice people among the Stranded who'd take in a little seven-year-old girl who'd lost her parents, but nobody ever had enough _food._ It was rations now, and humans were selfish.

She could feel the stares boring into her back, and her face reddened. She tried to shove the food in her mouth a bit slower, but she _needed_ those calories. Red didn't even look at her, keeping his head down as he dug into his own food. The new bruises on her back and arms seemed to pulse.

There was a sudden movement to her right, and somebody dropped into the seat next to her. He was short and stocky, with close-cropped red hair and a tattoo of a bull dog on his neck. Lazy brown eyes looked at her, and he said, his voice a low sound in the clamor, "Who's the stray?"

"A kid Cole picked up," Redshirt muttered grumpily. "Now he's getting his ass handed to him by Hoffman for it. I told him it was a bad idea."

The man rolled his eyes. "Owch. Least it's not you."

Darrina was beginning to feel extremely insignificant. "Yeah," Red agreed. "So how's Rojas, Mike?"

"Sleeping," Mike answered. "We're hopin' it's just a twenty-four hour bug or something. I heard that Santiago was sick with it last week. Where's Blondie?"

"Ephyra Med," Red said grimly. "He got nailed in the shoulder, but the doc there says he'll be okay." He took a large sip of his soup.

Mike studied him carefully. "You look pretty tense, Red," he said carefully. "What's up?"

Red pursed his lips, looking around the mess hall. There was nobody remotely near them, but it seemed to Darrina he just wanted to make sure. "I'm a _newbie,_" Red burst out. "I'm _new_, get it?"

"So?"

"_SO, _Cole just dragged my ass over the fire, and now I have… _babysitting duty."_

Darrina looked away, her face red. "Oh yeah?" Mike asked. He tapped her on the shoulder, and she cringed away. "Hey, kid, I ain't gonna hurt you."

"Don't touch me," she muttered sullenly, looking away.

Mike leaned back, mildly surprised. "O_kay_, I won't," he said. Pause. "What's your name?"

"None of your business," she muttered angrily. _Babysitting duty… nobody has to babysit me! I shot a Mauler!_

"Her name's Darrina," Red said, and Mike turned to him in the thrall of new information. Indeed, Red did seem to enjoy knowing something that others didn't for a change. _Knowitall._ "She stole Baird's Lancer, too, didn't you?"

She could feel the anger coming. "To _help_," she defended herself. "He wasn't using it, and I gave it back."

"She climbed on the roof just to get away from him—"

"To _help_," she snarled. Her tiny hands had curved into fists under her armpits.

"You were going to take it for yourself," Mike said knowingly. "Like all the other Stranded, right?"

"I _wasn't_, I swear," Darrina snapped.

Red snorted. "Uh-huh," he muttered. He turned back to Mike, rolling his eyes. "Anyway, Cole didn't want Baird to know we got her, so we hid her in the back until we left the hospital. Cole _wanted _to drop her off around here somewhere, but we got recalled before we could."

"Sounds to me like it's Cole's fault, not yours," Mike said. "Hoffman'll see it."

Darrina stared straight ahead, twin blotches of color on her pale cheeks. She was still shaking. With anger? Or fear?

She ducked her head and tucked into her tomato soup, trying to finish off the last of it. She could hear them talking next to her and tried hard to cancel them out… but she heard every word, just the same as the others.

_Worthless piece of shit._

_The Stranded didn't even help us defend _their_ homes._

_Stupid idea._

She wanted to hit them. She wanted to smash their faces with a Lancer over and over and over. She wanted to saw Red's stupid, lengthy nose off with the chainsaw attachment and give Mike an even closer shave than he could ever imagine. She didn't know where this pure, boundless anger came from, but it was _there_, burning hot in her chest. She could _use it_…

It was a long time before Cole eventually returned, or at least it felt like it. He had a satisfied smile on his face, but she could hardly see it. She had _thought_ he was a good judge of character, but _she_ was the one who was flawed. He came to their table and said, "Hoffman wants to see you, Dar. Don't worry yourself, baby, it'll all turn out good—hey, what happened to your face?"

Darrina stood up, anger still in her eyes. She walked past Cole without a word and ascended the stone stairs alone, taking deep breaths to calm herself down. Her heartbeat slowly returned to normal, and she began to breathe easier. Hoffman met her outside Command, looking over a balcony that gave him a good view of the entire base spread out around them.

She stood behind him, waiting.

"A good air strike could burn this place to the ground," he said conversationally. He didn't look at her. "A few Nemacysts spores and some Reavers, and this place would fall pretty quickly."

This called for no reply, so she didn't make one.

"That's why we go so hard against the Locusts around these parts. We can't _afford_ to lose this safe haven… or what else is left? Nobody has the granite or the balls to house us. But nobody's trying to end this war faster. We're all _trying._

"And it's not working," he said. He stated it as a fact. "More kids are orphans, and more people die every day. But we're not putting a damn dent in them."

"Then go in their holes and attack them," Darrina said quietly, in that clear-cut mindframe of a seven-year-old. "My dad always said we should bring the fight to them."

Hoffman nodded. "He's right," he said. Finally, he turned to regard her. Foreboding crept through her skull, except on a lesser scale. He no longer looked like a Colonel—only a man with a very, very hard job.

"What are you going to do with me?" she asked quietly.

"There's a 'camp near here. We'll send you there."

She nodded. "And Private Cole?"

"He's not in trouble," Hoffman said airily. "He explained the circumstances, and I figured it was a good decision."

"Then tell Private Red that," she said in a hard voice. "Because he's a jerk. You should make him do a lot of push-ups!"

"Do you think they'll actually _work?_" Hoffman asked shrewdly.

"No, but—" _But _what? He slammed her down the stairs? He insinuated that she was a dirty rotten thief? He was a _jerk? _Darrina clamped her mouth shut angrily, crossing near Hoffman to look out at the base. It _was_ pretty, she realized.

It was far too easy to imagine the skies dotted with Reavers and air spores.

"I heard you helped out big time over at Lemonade," Hoffman said. "Thanks for that. My boys have a lot to do, and it helps out a lot."

"I want to go to the camp. Can I go now?"

It was a while before he answered. "Yeah, if you promise to come back here when you're old enough to enlist." Darrina froze, shoulders tensing. "We could use people like you. If you're like this at nine—"

"—seven—"

"—then what'll you be like later? Not _dead._"

"I'm not joining if all your Gears are a bunch of mean jerks," she said. "It's not fair."

"Life isn't _fair," _Hoffman said.

"I already know that."

"Good," he said. He checked his watch. "Make up your mind."

"_Fine,_" she bit out. "I'll stinckin' join later. Now let me leave!"

He did. He even assigned one of their 'bots to guide her to the camp, controlled manually by somebody in Control. Darrina didn't even say goodbye when she left—she had a lot of miles to cover, and she had to find a shelter before nightfall. There was no use in dillydallying around.

As she left and got on to the main roads with the 'bot in front of her, Darrina thought, just for a second, she heard screaming. Then she remembered it was just the stuff in her mind, and she coninued on.


	4. Author's Note

So, so sorry for not updating much lately. I'm in the middle of a move, and we're having a bit of trouble ferrying 4 dogs across the country. I'll update soon, I promise, but maybe not until the next few days. I appreciate all the comments with my stories, and thanks so much! I hope I keep getting these comments, and when I come back I'll have some more chapters for you. :)


	5. Damon time

_Minor revision, Sept 07, 2009_

**Author's Note: **Aha, see, she isn't dead! I know it's not such a long chapter, but I didn't like leaving you guys just hanging. I'll promise I'll have some more Darrina/Baird stuff up later. I actually just drew a picture of Darrina, around sixteen years old fic-wise, and place it on my deviantartart. Just look me up at celestial-insanity (dot) deviantart (dot) com.

* * *

**Jacinto, COG Headquarters 1900**

Two hours after arriving back from Ephyra Med, Baird turned the shower water off and stood there for a moment with his head against the wall. Eyes closed, he focused his senses. He listened to the drops of water drip off of his skin and hit the drain between his legs and felt the dull, throbbing pain in his shoulder that reminded him of his mission that day. He stood there for a full minute in a moment of rare, unbroken period of reflection, just concentrating on feel and sound and _breathing._

Finally, though, he had to open his eyes to the harsh glare of light rebounding off of the blocks of wet, glistening shower tiles. He allowed his eyes to adjust to the sudden light and relaxed his shoulders.

There were some moments in his life nobody could take from him. Not a grub, not Hoffman, and not another comrade. It was _Damon's _time, and that was unbreakable.

Baird dressed quickly, savoring the time he had to himself in the barracks. Soon the patrols would be coming in to escape the kryll, but most wouldn't risk the short walk from the barracks to the showers in the dark, or even with a flashlight like some dumbasses did on their free time.

Buttoning up his pants, Baird grabbed his pack of toiletries, checking out his shoulder in the mirror before he left. The wound was angry, red, and swollen, but the Doc had done an okay job of patching it up. He moved it experimentally, barely wincing at the new wave of throbbing pain coming down his arm. _Fuck, if it got an inch closer it would've taken out a chunk of collarbone..._

He'd long since trained his mind to _not_ think about the 'what ifs', but sometimes they got ahead of his mind a little too fast. It was fine until he started to let his imagination go to overload. He could still remember all the way back to the Pendulum Wars–he was seven, and his dad had gotten a promotion and a pay raise. Suddenly they were in a huge house, maybe smaller than old Adam Fenix's, and before they had moved in he'd watched a horror movie. The entire night and day he was convinced that a rotting corpse was in his closet, convincing himself so thoroughly that he could smell the fumes coming off the body. He'd refused to sleep in a room with a closet and slept in the kitchen under a table.

Of course, real dead bodies didn't smell like that. It was only in his imagination.

Still in deep thought, Baird walked along the paved lanes towards the barracks, keeping half an eye on the rays of sunlight slowly diminishing over the horizon. He didn't hurry, but he didn't intend to take his time, either. He'd already stopped in to check on Rojas, and Mike had only a half-assed comment to give on his condition. He _looked_ better, though–at least he wasn't vomiting up his lower stomach in the shithalls they called bathrooms, anyway.

He hadn't seen Cole since he'd come back, which had immediately thrown him off of his track. He'd been intending to nag his ear off about leaving him at that fucking hospital with _Stabler_, but that hour was long in coming. Baird was pissed, and nobody was going to stand in his way of tearing somebody a new ass–there was just nobody there to _tear._

A figure rounded one of the corners in front of him, wearing the bulky, heavy armor he had packed in his bag. Almost automatically his pale, guard-dog eyes found his and Baird felt his scowl deepen a little. "Fenix."

Fenix only nodded in recognition, his eyes flowing over his and looking somewhere over his shoulder. He shouldered his way past Baird, and he rolled his eyes. "Hello to you, too, asshole," he mumbled, hefting his bag a little on his good shoulder.

Fenix was heading the opposite way of the barracks, and all the patrols were due in soon because of the kryll. Baird wondered about the odd behavior for a few seconds, then passed it off as not his business.

_Hey, what Prince Charming does on his own time isn't my fucking problem._

* * *

Rojas looked up as he entered the room. "Hey, man, how's it going?"

Baird shrugged, turning around to set the backpack on his bed. The movement sent a slight shiver down his pectoral muscle. "Fine and dandy, if Cole and Red hadn't ditched me in Ephyra." He turned around, squinting. "Feelin' better?"

"I'll be one-hundred percent tomorrow," Rojas said, grinning a sick smile at him. His face had regained some color, and a half-drank bottle of water was on the endtable next to him. "Heard it was a fucking mess out there. How'd you do?"

Baird gestured at the waterproof bandage-wrap underneath his shirt, making a face. "We were in Lemonade when the grubs popped out. It was pretty bad."

"Oh, yeah?" Rojas challenged. "Bad as the incident we had a few weeks back outside Ilima?"

Baird remembered that day clearly, but for another reason. That entire day was branded into his skull, every moment memorized to the exact detail. He hated it. "No," he said sharply, turning back around to unpack his gear. "No... fuck no, not as bad as that."

"So what happened?"

He hefted the shoulder plates from the pack and laid them down with one hand. "What's there to know?" he asked sarcastically.

"Give me some fucking _details_, you jackass," Rojas snapped. "If you're gonna act like a whiny-ass teenager on me, then I'm aiming for you next when I hurl."

Baird scowled at him. "Jackass."

Rojas spread his hands out wide. "I'm waiting."

Baird let out a sigh, annoyed. He opened his mouth to say something, but Redshirt chose that moment to crash on their party. He still hadn't taken off his rig. Mike followed behind him, followed from a distance by Cole. Baird's alarm bells went off almost immediately. When you spent most of your days with the same group of men in combat, you learned quick how to pick up their tells. Redshirt only nodded in acknowledgment and pushed past him, but Mike and Cole were _tense._ He could see it in their shoulders.

Rojas noticed, too. "What's up?" he asked warily.

Redshirt shot a glance at Baird, lifting off the helmet to expose his pale, wan face. "Nothing."

Baird would've let it go then, figuring the standstill wouldn't last too long, but Cole didn't even look at him as he passed. "Glad to see you're all better, baby," he muttered.

"Yeah," he said carefully. "Doc Stabler even gave me a pat on the head for being a _good boy..._"

He didn't know Cole Train much–hell, this was only their first week in the same squad–but he could tell something was bothering the larger man. It was strange, because Cole usually just let things bounce off of him. "I'll bring your doggie bag next time then, Damon."

Baird and Rojas exchanged a look, but Rojas just shook his head slightly. _Let it go, they'll get over it,_ he was communicating. Baird considered mutiny, but closed his mouth. Whatever they were arguing about had to be _interesting,_ and he wanted to see how long the three could go until they got it out of their system. He'd take bets with Rojas tomorrow when they got a moment to themselves.


	6. Wretches & Stranded

Author's Note: OK, you gots to luv me. Two chapters at once! Thank you so, so much to everybody helping me out with this and reviewing–seriously. Reviewing and fav'ing my stories really make my move more bearable. ^_^ As I promised, some Baird/Darrina...

Also, I'm taking commissions on my deviantart. Please visit my FF.N profile and DA profile to learn more. :) (they're free!)

I just love writing for Darrina. I've never exactly written a young girl like her before, and it's an interesting challenge. Really, it is! :P I just want you guys to know in advance, though, that her background may NOT be suitable for a few folks. You've been warned.

**ALSO,** the ending of this chapter may be difficult to understand. It _will_ be explained in later chapters.

* * *

**Jacinto Streets, 1300**

Baird understood the way a lot of people felt about the Stranded. Hell, his dislike probably surpassed their own. But this was just plain _wrong._

Beside him, Cole made a face at the bodies. "That's just plain out nasty, baby."

The ground below was silent for now, and Baird was pretty sure their insect days were over. Rojas, recovered from the bug that got him down the other day, had taken Red to do a quick perimeter check just in case. Baird had half a mind to _request_ Mike go accompany them to make sure Rojas didn't meet the same fate as the poor old dude at his feet.

_Shit_, where did those things _come_ from? Baird knelt next to the Stranded's torn and ravaged body, poking at the smaller, white body with a finger. Significantly smaller than any of the grubs he'd encountered so far, it looked more like some sort of hairless albino monkey... _or something else, _he added.

"This ain't good, Cole," Baird said, picking through the corpse with his gloved fingers. He had no idea if the damn things carried diseases or not, but he'd heard of a few type of suicide bombers during the Pendulum Wars. No, no grenades were in the carcass, and he felt slightly grossed out that he felt he had to check. He studied the large, toothy face, with a cross between revulsion and curiosity.

_Shit, these things are _freaky._ Are they like breeding new troops or something?_

"They have some freaky-ass shit down there..." Cole muttered.

Mike turned away from the bodies, motioning to ASHbot to record a few stills. "Alpha Four to Control. Alpha Four to Control, do you read me?"

Almost at once, Baird's earpiece crackled. He picked up the thing's arm with one hand and allowed it to drop limply on the body. It hit with a wet thud. Mike whirled around at the bodies, reaching for the pistil on his waist, but Baird shook his head. "Still dead."

"Control to Alpha Four_."_ Anya Stroud sounded tired, as if she hadn't gotten any sleep. She probably hadn't. "Hoffman advises you _don't _do that, Baird._"_

"We'd like an advisatory on this..." Mike looked at it and shook his head. "Whatever the hell this thing is."

ASHbot _whirred_, and the collapsible compartment installed on the bottom of its chestpiece lowered slightly, showing a clear picture of Anya Stroud on the other end. Baird glanced up at it only fleetingly before turning his eyes back to the mini-grub. Yeah, she was tired. So was he. She hadn't even remembered to put on her makeup.

"We've gotten similar reports as yours, Sergeant," Stroud said. "We have almost no idea what this thing is, but it's obvious the Locusts are holding out on us. Hold on, I'm reviewing the bot footage."

Combat footage. Yeah, ASHbot was supposed to do that. To document important crap or whatever in some sort of veiled hope that the answer would be just around the corner, or maybe they'd get a glimpse of the Locust President or whatever the hell leaders they had. _Well, in my opinion, Mr President, I think you have a mental illness. I can fix that._

The mini-grub wasn't going anywhere in a hurry, so Baird moved on to the Stranded man it'd mauled. _Wasn't even a Gear, and it went for him. Where's the logic in that?_

The man was in his sixties and smelled like gas and Indie cigars, but that smell was almost completely covered up by the smell of decomposing flesh and blood. His face–even his _nose_–had been gnawed off by very sharp, pointy teeth. The mini-grub's large claws had torn large gashes on his arms that looked just...

Even Baird didn't hate the Stranded that much.

"Could be one of those things from the movies," Red piped up on the link. Too loud. Always too fucking loud. "You know, thing bites you and you get turned into it. Maybe he'll be a grub, too."

Baird glared in his general direction, and he felt even Cole tense up next to him. "That's _zombies_, asshole," Baird growled. "And that crap don't exist outside of the movies. Start paying attention to real life."

Red descended into silence, but Rojas was humming to himself, singing softly under his breath. He shared Baird's views on Red's ineptitude, and he became shamelessly cheerful when the younger man was scolded. He'd dropped hints of knowing Red from Elementary School, but Baird doubted the kid had ever left the little subdivision he called home.

Anya clicked back on. "These are the same things we've seen nearly everywhere near the Jacinto border lately, and I know for sure they ambushed Sierra Six outside Ephyra. More than that I can't tell you, Alpha."

Mike nodded. "Right, thanks. How do you kill em?"

"They don't seem to be able to take much punishment," Anya said. "But they _are_ deadly, and we don't know if they carry toxins or poisons in their system. If you get scratched, you should go see Hayman for treatment until we issue otherwise."

Mike cursed under his breath, and Cole sighed in grudging acceptance. They had to be the only ones in the entire COG who were thick enough to go around without the full set of gear on. Baird rubbed a hand through his hair, pushing the goggles up from over his eyes and on to his forehead. They'd been a tradition since he was young to keep his eyes from getting blinded from the white flashes of the welding iron or whatever thing he got into. After that scientist, Fenix, put the chainsaw bayonet on to the Lancer they'd worked great for keeping stray bone pieces from getting caught in his eye. That, and they were some of the last remnants to his old life he had.

"Understood, ma'am," Mike said finally.

"Who was sliced, Sergeant?"She didn't miss a thing.

Mike looked around, and Baird shook his head, pointing to him and Cole. He was grinning. "Just me and Train, Control. Tiny slices, nothing to worry about." The blood on his arm dripped down his hand and off his fingers, accentuating his lie. Baird snorted. "But we'll come in."

Baird nodded.

"Yo, Anya." Cole always liked to use first names with everybody except Baird. Maybe it was because everybody else referred to him by his last name, or maybe he just plain didn't like him. "We got a name on this things yet?"

Anya might've smiled. "Hoffman prefers 'wretches.'"

Baird glanced at it and grimaced. It fit, all right. The dull throbbing in his shoulder was starting to come back full force, distracting him from the conversation. He made a face, rotating the shoulder a little bit to relieve some of the stiffness, but it still hurt. He'd have to take some more meds when they got back to base, and the thought wasn't a pleasant one.

"Wilco, Control. Alpha out," Mike was saying. ASHbot's screen folded back up into the chestpiece, and they were left alone again. "Let's just leave it here. Rojas, Red, circle back and meet us at the APC."

Jacinto citizens were starting to come out on to the streets. The old Stranded must've been making rounds or something, because the people here still looked _clean._ A woman–curly red hair and freckles–pointed at the bodies with a shaking finger. "Can't you take them with you?" she asked. "Run tests on them or something?"

"No, ma'am, we can't," Cole said, always the peace-maker. "We already got one back at base we can run tests on."

Somebody tapped Baird's shoulder–the injured one–and he turned around to face a tiny girl with long black hair. He blinked, shocked. For a moment, she looked almost exactly like the little Pesenga girl that stole his Lancer. "Mister?" she whispered. _She even sounds the same._ Silent tears were running down her face. "Can you fix my dog?"

One of the older men leaned down to pick her up. He looked exhausted. "I'm sorry," he apologized. "Our Chow tried to chase it."

"But can't they fix Chloe?" the little girl asked, voice shaking. Her little arms were trembling on his neck. "Tell them to fix her!"

Mike and Cole exchanged a glance, and Baird felt her had to look away. The little girl's tears, fading into the background as her dad took her away, were making him feel guilty without any reason at all. "Control wants us to report back in for meds," Mike said, answering Cole's unasked question.

"Hey, man, if you feel like you're dyin' you can go back," Cole said, shrugging. "We're the good guys, we can check em out."

Mike's face darkened a little. "Just don't go bringing the thing back like you did with that little girl," he said. "Baird, go with him and put that doggy back together."

Baird stood, his leg muscles aching in protest. "What girl?" he asked, knees popping.

"He didn't tell you yet?" Mike snorted. "While you were out in the hospital the Train and Red were taking in a little Pesenga from Lemonade."

_She stole my Lancer._

That was Baird's first and only thought. His mind seemed to blank out. Cole made a little grunting noise and turned away. "Oh yeah?" he asked,

"Yeah," Mike said. "Freeloader. Ate just about everything we had, didn't she, Cole? Oh, yeah, you sent Red to babysit."

"I thought we covered this _yesterday_, baby," Cole said, turning back around to glare at Mike. "Just because your own moral compass got a malfunction don't mean mine needs to. I _been_ her." He just shook his head angrily and gestured to Baird. "Come on, Damon. We got to go fix up a dog."

"Go help a little old lady cross the street, too," Mike grunted, turning away to pick up the old Stranded's body. "Fuckers."

Baird was beginning to piece in the puzzle. He wasn't dumb. The girl must've hid in the APC when they took him to the hospital. Then they must've dropped her off at that camp near Jacinto.

"_I just wanted to help," she whispered, cowering underneath his glare._

"Ah," he muttered, keeping close behind Cole. "Ah, fuck. You didn't."

"Had to," Cole said. "Weren't gonna leave her there, now, was I?"

Fighting side-by-side with a man for a week let you figure out things about them you probably couldn't find out in months of a normal relationship. This was obviously a sore subject for Cole, and Mike loathed him for it. Baird couldn't _believe_ he went behind his back just to get a little girl to _another_ fucking cesspit.

"Shit, Cole, why didn't you tell me?"

"You had enough problems." Cole looked over his shoulder at him and shrugged. "And you wouldn't have taken it so easy now, would you? How did _I _know you weren't gonna be a big asshole like Mike and Red were to her? She got enough on her plate."

"She could have been _faking–_"

"Dammit, Baird, don't you think I know that?" Cole was getting twisted. His shoulders were getting set, and there was no familiar smile on his face. "It's _done_ now, so let it go."

"What, I'm not aloud to add my _own_ effing input?" Baird shot back, putting a hand on Cole's shoulder and forcibly turning him around to face him, which was a hard job even without the full gear on. His face was thunderous. "Look, don't keep that shit from me. I'd _want_ to know, got it?"

"Then you'll know next time it happens," Cole said. He turned back around, still tense, and Baird followed him into the tiny house with the dead flowers out front they'd seen the dad go in with the crying girl. He knocked on the door a few times, then twisted the knob to let himself in. "Cole Train and Baird Vet Service. How can we help you today?"

Baird followed behind, still tense and edging off the adrenaline rush from the fight with the wretches, and stood still. In the middle of their kitchen a medium-sized black dog lay on her side, eyes closed. Her hair was matted with dark red blood pooling from her side and legs. Her left ear was soaked in it. "Oh, that isn't good," he muttered.

The man and his wife were kneeling next to the dog, placing cold rags on the lacerations. "Thank God you're here," the wife whispered. "She chased that _thing..._ we couldn't hold her back."

Cole knelt to the ground in the dog's pool of blood, scratching behind her ears. "Ah, there's a good girl," he muttered. "What's her name?"

"Chloe." The little girl was at the foot of the stairs, tears still coming down her face.

"I'm Henry," the man said. "This is Pam. Our daughter's Andrea."

Baird got out the med supply kit and pooled his resources with Cole's. "Jab a painkiller in there while I get the stitches," he said, rifling in the box.

They were calm and efficient as they did it. Cole used his chainsaw to cut a coathanger in half and set the half with the coats on the floor. He tied an IV drip to it and inserted the needle into the dog's neck. It's breathing began to slow and became more clear to Baird's ears.

"Okay," he muttered. He took his gloves off, exposing bare flesh underneath, and felt along its' stomach for any broken ribs. "We're good. Move that rag over to another one, I got this."

Pam moved the rag to another long cut, and Baird sewed the tear shut, applying some alcohol to the cut. The dog didn't move.

Cole and Baird exchanged a glance, and they each began to sew the lacerations shut. Each time they finished, Baird applied some alcohol rubbing fluid. They rolled Chloe on to her back to get a better look at her stomach.

Cole sighed. "It's all superficial. It'll heal," he told them. "The Train got this."

Baird concentrated on sewing, probing his fingers–washed with the alcohol–deep inside the cut to feel to anything too deep. But Cole was right. It certainly made his job easier. Minutes later, they finished.

They leaned back on their haunches, and despite himself Baird was pleased. Pam and Henry's eyes were fixed on their dog, and Pam let out a sob of relief.

"Don't let her walk," Baird warned. "And if any of those stitches open up, just put a rag on them. Cool water will clot it right away. Got it?"

They nodded. Andrea crawled over to Chloe and peered into her face. "When will she wake up?"

"In a few hours," Cole assured her, patting her head. "Don't worry, she'll be fine. Just make her eat some, okay?"

"But _don't_ shove it down her throat," Baird warned. Cole could trust kids as much as he wanted, but he knew enough of them to know that the girl would probably take it to heart.

The girl hugged his neck. "Thanks!" she said brightly, planting a kiss on his cheek.

Cole laughed out loud, but her parents didn't seem to notice. Their eyes were still fixed on Chloe's still form. "When do we take the IV out?" Pam asked a little breathlessly.

Cole filled him in on the details, and Baird settled for watching Andrea watch Chloe's face. She was mesmerized by it. She was on her stomach in her own dog's blood, her eyes drinking in every feature. Her fingers slowly brushed through her hair, and it wasn't until he saw her lips move that he realized she was talking in her dog's ear.

"...and she was so pretty he had to go help her... killed lots of bad guys... the old man died, and he was mad, but that was okay because he still talked to him in his mind..."

Baird _thought_ he recognized the story, but without much detail he was at a loss. He listened to her talk, mesmerized, until Cole pat him on the arm and stood up. "Looks like we used the last of your meds, baby. I'm sorry."

"I'm fine," Baird said, standing up. "Doesn't even hurt anymore."

Andrea's story faded into the background, but by now he could guess the ending.

"Thank you so much," Henry said, patting Chloe's fur. "Is there anything we can do to help you?"

Cole shook his head, his smile returning to his face. "Nah, man. It's what we _have_ to do, see? If we don't help each other, who will?"

''Actually, there's one thing." It was out of Baird's mouth before he knew it. "Cole rescued a little Pesenga girl from Camp Lemonade, near Ephyra. She's here in Jacinto on her own now, and she's about seven or eight. Short kid, looks like your daughter." He was rambling, and he knew it. "If you see her anywhere, can you help her out?"

Pam nodded. "Of course," she said. "Have you got any idea where she is?"

Baird was aware of Cole looking at him when he said, "Just a camp in Jacinto, ma'am. That's all we know."

"And Pesenga, you said?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Does she have a name?"

Baird frowned and looked to Cole for an answer. He gave it without question. "Darrina," he said. "Darrina Thel-Lehon."

_Darrina Thel-Lehon._

Darrina could have been derived from the Indie word _darman_, which meant 'no longer' or 'no longer one,' or maybe more possibly the old Pesenga word _darrilu._ He forgot the meaning of it, but he had a dictionary laying around somewhere. Nobody could say he was illiterate. Math and Language was his forte.

He'd figure it out.

As they walked back out, Cole was quiet. The crowd around the APC had dispersed, and the bodies had been taken into the vehicle. They both climbed in without a word, joining Red, Rojas, and Mike. They put up with their barbed comments–Rojas understood, though–and when they parked the thing at the base after their patrol, Cole lagged behind the group, carrying the wretch over his shoulder. He looked disgusted and thoughtful at the same time, something he'd never seen until now. "That was a good thing you did back there, Damon baby," he said, and caught up to the rest of the group.

* * *

**Stranded Camp, Jacinto **

Darrina bent her head over her soup bowl, sucking up the contents as quickly as she could and keeping an eye on the people around her. At Camp Lemonade people used to steal her food if she didn't eat it fast enough, but she didn't know about these guys. They sat around their fire eating their mush and drinking endless cans of beer. A beer of her own lay at her feet, forgotten. It had tasted so bad she'd almost gagged, but she didn't want to look out of place so she swallowed a few mouthfuls.

A man to her left, Frank, was smoking some kind of thick Indie cigar, and its fumes wafted across her face like some kind of fog. "Do they always smell like that?" she asked him.

He coughed and smoke came out of his nose. Her eyes widened at the phenomenon. "Yup. Tastes good, though, gal." He rummaged in his pocket for another and lit it. He handed it to her, and she took it, frowning a little. "Put it in your mouth like this," he said, "and take a big whiff."

She took a deep breath through her nose, and he laughed. "Out your mouth, hun."

She did it and nearly choked on the smoke. She brought it away from her lips to cough, and was aware half of the little circle was grinning at her. She duck her head in embarrassment and tried again. The smoke was sweet inside her mouth, tickling the back of her throat before she breathed out her nose. Two twin plums left her nose in time with her breathing.

It didn't taste _good._ But it didn't taste bad, either.

"It's okay..." she said, trying hard to fit in. "My brother used to smoke some, but he never gave me any."

"Did it smell as bad?" Frank asked, cackling.

"No," she said. "It was really sweet. It smelled _good._"

Frank and Marv exchanged a glance. "Probably wasn't a cigar," Marv muttered in his thick accent, raising his eyebrows humorously. "Whoo, your bro got some _weed_, girl."

"It wasn't weed," she said defensively. "It looked like Frank's!"

"That would be a _joint_," Emily said, laughing.

"Where's your bro at, little girl? I want some," Marv said.

"Ephyra," she muttered. "He's dead."

They didn't know her name or where she came from, and she didn't want them to. Just this little revelation shocked them, because she saw a few pairs of eyebrows raise until they were in trouble of disappearing into their hairline. "Oh yeah?" Emily asked shrewdly. "He live with you? You never said."

"No I didn't," she said, ducking her head to drink up some more of her soup. "He and my dad didn't get along."

"Oh yah?" Frank asked. "Why?"

Like she was going to tell them _that._ "They just didn't."

She took another long whiff of the Indie cigar, looking to change the subject. "Can't you get addicted to these?" she asked curiously.

Frank and Marv exchanged a glance and Darrina knew at once they wouldn't tell her until she told them something else about herself. "Why don't you tell us your name?" Frank asked. "You know, we gotta barter some."

Her chin came up pointedly. "No," she said.

"Why?"

_Because..._ "I don't have one," she lied, putting enough chagrin into the sentence to make it seem real.

Emily snorted. "Fat fucking chance," she said. "Then what'd your bro call you?"

"He didn't," Darrina said, looking away. "He left before I was born."

"So he's your _big_ bro. I get it. So what'd your parents call you?"

"Nuthin'," she said. "They always yelled at me."

There was always more, always more. _Stop that,_ she would cry. _Don't do that. Stop. Stop. Stop! Don't hit me! No, go away, I hate you. I hate you._

_I hate you._

They hated her, too. Mom with her bad leg, dad with his missing arm. She was the only thing they could use to get money. They needed money. Money money money. All they talked about, all they said. No bedtime stories. _What will I do tomorrow, dad?_

Money money money.

Darrina didn't matter. She was a tool. Tools didn't get to have _fun_, or to have names. Even though they gave one to her, they rarely called her by it. They never said the special things, either. _I love you,_ was not a part of their vocabulary.

They weren't even her real parents.

Her real parents were dead somewhere, but she'd been drilled to call these strangers mom and dad, to pay attention to them and learn. To grow up as cruel as they did. They weren't Pesenga, so they didn't live by the honor code that was as much part of her blood as her cells were. _You're special, dear,_ mom would say, right before she was used for another job. _A lot of people like you._

It was scary. She hated that life. The only bright spot was the attack on Lemonade.

Even if they weren't dead, and even if it hadn't happened, she would have found a way to get away. She would have figured out something.

Gears were all mean jerks, but that big black guy was nice. She'd already forgotten his name.

"Well," Frank said, leaning back a little, "scuttlebutt says that there's a nice little family looking for you, kiddo. A little Pesenga girl about your age. Darrina Thel-Lehon. Mean anything to you?"

She froze, and her reaction must've told all. Frank laughed. "Knew it."

"Who's looking for me?" she asked a little cautiously.

"Henry DeLune," he said. "Know him?"

She shook her head in a mute no.

"Tall, looks like you except for the eyes... has a daughter, Andrea... pretty hot wife. Pam. You sure?"

"Why are they looking for me?" she asked.

"_Well,_" Frank said, pausing for dramatic effect. "Looks like one of the Gears went off and saved a little puppy and asked for a favor. For them to look after _you._ Now, ain't that funny?"

"Hilarious," Marv said. "Good thing we said we didn't know about that little girl, eh, Frankie?"

"Never seen a Pesenga in my life," Frank said, taking a deep whiff of his cigar. The smoke blew out his nose, twisting into an interesting pattern. "But I said we'd keep a lookout, didn't I, Emily?"

"Yup, you did," Emily said.

"The man even gave a _reward,_ too," Marv said. He was enjoying this, as far as she could tell. She was horrified. "What was it again, Emily?"

"_Morphine._" Emily was still smirking. "Enough to help any old tosser with some MS."

"He doesn't know I'm here?" she asked, biting her lip. "Please say you didn't tell him!"

Frankie gestured to the cigar with one hand, making a face. "Whiff some of that up, _Darrina._ Calms the nerves."

She did as she requested, but her breaths were shaky. _It could be Mom and Dad. Are they coming back for me? Didn't they die? The robot left me here, so it _can't_ be because a Gear wants to look after me._

Who wanted to look after her, anyway?

No, no way was she going back to money money money.

_I swear._

"If you were listening instead of hyperventilating, you'd know we didn't, idiot," Emily said, twirling a piece of long auburn hair with one finger. "Like we'd turn any of us over to the Gears. They ain't the good guys."

"They were mean to me," she muttered. "I was trying to _help_, but they hit me."

Did they actually hit her? She couldn't remember. It was all a blur.

Emily placed an arm around her shoulder. "They ain't gonna hurt you here, darlin'," she said, hugging her close. She smelled like sex and alcohol. "Trust me. Hey, aren't you going to drink your beer?"

She nodded numbly. "Yeah, I will."

And then the night when on as normal, except for her racing heart.

* * *

True to their word, the Gears never came far enough into their camp and never close enough to actually see her. She watched them, though, always hiding behind Frank's window. She shared a bed with him since it was big enough for two people, so she sort of unofficially lived there. The Stranded weren't much better than her previous life–there were some rapes and fights in the streets–but it was a big plus. Money money money was long gone.

Sitting in the streets and drinking the rest of Emily's beer, she waited for Frank and her to come out of the house. Every other day or so they each got drunk and had what Frank called 'private moments' in the bedroom. He didn't need to explain it to Darrina, because it happened plenty of times in Lemonade, too.

While she waited, she watched two of the drunkest people in their camp, Arfur and Joan, go at it on the sidewalk, screaming at each other and throwing beer cans. "Wonder what it is this time," a guy next to a small fire pit muttered.

"Why do they fight so much?" Darrina asked curiously.

"Because they're prostitutes," he said matter-of-factly. "They want to know who gets the most money."

"But that's stupid."

"Yeah. Joan does, because she doesn't have STDs."

"What are those?"

He grinned. "Go ask your Frank."

Frank and Emily didn't come out. She waited for a long time, but her quick ears couldn't pick up any noises from the bedroom. Maybe they were sleeping.

Darrina got up, joints popping, and decided to check out the rest of the camp. Normally, she would've already done this, but Frank always said no, maybe later. Well, it was later and he was having sex with Emily–she needed something to _do._

The Stranded camp didn't _feel_ different than Lemonade. There was just new people, new locations. The layout was totally different, though, and it only took her a few twisting turns down the side alleys to get completely lost. Two men sitting in the corner glared up at her as she passed, and there was a whispered conversation behind her back.

"Yo, baby, where you goin'?" one asked, running up to her.

He placed an arm around her shoulders, and she snapped. She began to run, pumping her legs for all she was worth. She heard the roaring laughter behind her, but nobody followed.

She continued to run in a blind panic until she had to stop, gasping for air. She fell to her knees, clutching at her chest. _Stop following me,_ she begged. _Stop it. Stop, stop, stop._

They found her there minutes later, covered in sweat and shaking. Mom looked down at her and smiled toothily, and suddenly she was back in her old room. "Time to get up," Mom said, handing her her clothes. "Work day today!"

She limped over to Darrina's bed and forcibly took her nightshirt off, exposing her chest underneath, and put the other shirt on over her head. "Make me and daddy proud today."

But it _hurt._ It was hurting her. "Somebody put out the fire!" she screamed, or tried to. Something was clogging up her throat, and she rolled over and vomited.

She was back on the street again, and she could see nothing but the dark, endless streets. Her eyes rolled blindly in her head, and her entire body convulsed. Her head hit the pavement really, really hard, and then it all went dark.


	7. Elementary Medical

Author's Note: OK, I switched some things around since the last Chapter 7 I did, so I guess it's a good thing it never posted! A short chapter, but hopefully entertaining... I don't do female doctors as well as I would like. =\

Thanks for all the reviews! I'll try to get back with everybody as soon as things settle down.

* * *

**Jacinto**

"Hmm, that stings a bit, Doc," Cole said, watching Hayman pour the antibacterial soap on his halfway-healed cut. "Just a bit, though."

"You're lucky it wasn't deeper,' Hayman said, rubbing it deeper into the wound for more coverage. This was only one of the several treatments she'd done to various Gear patients who had been cut by the wretches, and Baird suspected she only continued to make them prepare themselves better. She didn't hesitate to point out the fact that he'd finally donned _all_ of his gear instead of leaving the arms bare as Cole and Mike did. "I'd have to run a test."

"And I don't think she means a urine sample," Baird said from teh doorway, arms crossed.

"That's good," Cole said. "I just took a piss, anyway."

"Humph," Hayman grunted. She turned around to place the antibacterial soap back on a shelf and rewrapped the bandages on his arm.

"So how long are we gonna continue this relationship, Doc?" Cole asked curiously.

"Until Hoffman tells me those things don't carry any diseases," she said. "But let's just assume they do. At least that'll be the cleanest scratch in the world."

Cole snorted. "I don't know, baby..."

Baird actually laughed. "We found you a new friend, Doc," he said. "Germophobic lives right down the street."

Hayman fixed him with a look that mimicked the crack of glacial ice. "Maybe your germophobic could clean between your teeth for you, seeing as it doesn't look like you do it yourself."

Baird took the blow without a flinch. It was a measure of how much he respected another person's ability when he didn't give a retort back. It was always _Doctor Hayman_ with her–not Granny. He just tilted his head a little and sneered when her back was turned.

"Yo, Doc, I got a question," Cole said. "How hard is it to put a tube down some dude's throat in the field?"

"Didn't they show you that in Basic, Cole?"

Baird answered for him. "We signed on after the war, Doc. We were in to fight, not to get a Med Degree."

"Thank God," Hayman muttered. "Endotracheal intubation should _not_ be done by you... or Baird. Not until you have a proper course in it."

Cole grinned. "So give it to us. You are the best, right?"

"I'm the damn best doctor here," Hayman said. "But I have other patients. Get out, I'll tell you later."

Cole was still rubbing his arm when they left. "That okay?" Baird asked, eying him out of the corner of his eye.

"Ain't stinging," he said. "Just rememberin' is all. It's a scary place out here, man."

Baird nodded. What else could he say to that? "What was with the tube questions, anyway?"

Cole shrugged nonchalantly. For a moment Baird thought he'd brush him off and go join his buddy at the weight room, but he surprised him. "Got into a real bad car accident a few years before E-Day," he said. "Baby, there were flying chunks of metal everywhere. One of my buddies was driving, and he wasn't breathin'. Scariest moment of my _life._ And some man came over to help, a doctor, right? Put a tube down his throat. Saved his life. I wanna know that I can do that if one of my buddies gets in trouble."

Baird frowned, glancing over at Cole. The bigger man was looking out at the courtyard, watching the Gears intermingle with each other in their off hours. It was a primal moment. "And the buddy?" Baird asked in a low voice. "He die on E-Day?"

"He's too stubborn to die for that, baby." He grimaced. "He's a Gear now. Lost his entire team at Ilima. Same thing happed with you and Rojas, right? I heard you talking about it one night."

"Ilima was one of the biggest attacks we had since the Fortification Act," Baird said slowly. "A lot of Gears died." _Bare. Granger. Jenson._ _My team._

"Don't feel too bad about it, baby," Cole said. "I miss 'em every day, but it ain't in our control who lives and who dies. You know? That's what momma always said, that's how her boy lives."

Baird snorted. Fuck, this was getting too emotional for him. "Yeah, I guess," he said nonchalantly. "What did you mean back there, when you said you been that Peseng?"

He'd have to look up the root word of Darrina in the Pesang dictionary when he had a chance. Right now he was just going by memory.

"Maybe I'll tell you another time, Damon baby. Right now, I think I want to spend some time with the livin'."

Baird watched him go join up with Red by the barrack entrance. _Damn, how could he spend time with that kid?_ Baird watched them until they disappeared into the weight room. Even with the disagreement about Darrina on their minds, at least they could still talk and joke with each other. Baird was feeling more alone than ever, even knowing that he had a whole army of Gears ready to help him out of a tight spot.

Maybe it was time Baird spent some time with the living, too. He left to find Rojas.

* * *

Their patrol started the next day at 0600 hours, right as the kryll were beginning to fade back into their underground nests.

Taking the first shift as the driver, Baird wasted no time in getting on to Blackrock Road. Mike sat beside him, adjusting his TacCom. Cole had the guns, and Rojas and Red were in the back catching some much-needed sleep. "Looks like its gonna rain," Mike predicted. Baird glanced up towards the sky. "No, not there. Birds are flying low." He pointed to a group of pigeons flying closer to the buildings than normal. "See?"

"There ain't no clouds, Sarge," Cole said, but he didn't sound like he was disagreeing.

Mike snorted. "Not yet. Trust me–it's an old Boy Scout trick."

"Didn't know they still had that going on," Baird said dryly. "You gotta be the oldest one in the group."

"Very funny, asshole," Mike shot back.

But Mike's prediction actually proved true later on. Thunder rumbled in the distance, and Baird grunted. Even though he wore that pleased smile on his face, Mike didn't look like he liked it. "So does it look like razorhail, o glorious leader?" Baird asked.

"Maybe," Mike grunted.

"Hey!" Red's voice scared the shit out of him, and Mike twisted his head around to look. "I _know_ you!"

Baird took a glance at the rearview mirror. Red was pointing at Rojas with one finger, head tilted in an odd fashion. "Goddammit, save it, Red!" Baird growled.

"No, no, no, but I _know_ him. I couldn't remember until now!"

Rojas' expression was invisible inside his helmet. "Oh great..."

"Elementary school," Red continued, high on discovery. "You're the kid with the ponytail. Yeah, I remember now. Miss Carlborough's class."

Rojas might've coughed a little. _Ponytail?_ "Does that have any relevance here... at _all?_"

"No, but _man_ it's been bugging me until now. Yo, you remember me, right?"

Rojas' helmet turned slowly to face Red's. "Unfortunately."

"You could've told me, man–or wait, did you just figure it out now, like me?"

"I knew for a long time," Rojas said. "So what?"

"Cool it, Red," Baird said, correcting his steering. "It ain't a big fucking deal."

* * *

_Mike was given the duty of giving the new rook the tour of the place, and Baird and Rojas watched from their perch on the APC. Rojas grunted under his breath a bit and donner his helmet, becoming faceless. Baird raised his eyebrows just slightly, but Rojas took the helmet right back off when Redshirt disappeared. "I always hated that guy," Rojas said a little airily._

_"You hated him?" Baird echoed, surprised. "What the hell he _do?_"_

_Rojas just shook his head, sighing. "You'll see why..."_

_Rojas was right._

_

* * *

  
_

"But it _is_, man," Red had to grin at Rojas's expense when he plowed on, saying, "Man, when I was a kid I was always wondering what you guys would look like when you grew up, and now I know. Hey, what'd you think of me?"

"I think you have ADHD," Rojas said evenly. "Does this newfound knowledge change anything?"

"Nope, but _man..._"

"Cool it, guys. Control's blinking us." Mike's voice was sharp enough to pull a part of Red's mind from the conversation, but Baird knew in his heart it'd continue later. "Alpha receiving."

It wasn't Anya this time. "Hoffman wants everybody to pull back towards base," a male voice said. "Looks like razorhail's on the way. The grubs would be crazy to try and get us in that."

Smugness seemed to radiate out of Mike's every pore. "Acknowledged, Control. Alpha out."

Baird took a left, bringing the APC around in a U-turn. "Get it out of your system," he growled.

"Whoo-hoo, man, I just found my new weather-detector," Cole jeered. "That shit's fucked up, bro."

Mike leaned back in his seat, a sneer plastered on his face.

_Yeah, suck it dry, asshole._

* * *

**Jacinto Med**

Maryon Hayman rarely received personal calls, but when they did they were not to be ignored. Holding up a hand to quiet a nurse who was asking for advice on a patient with a cancerous tumor on his neck, she brought the radio to her mouth and clicked it on. "Hayman receiving. Go ahead, Hoffman."

The signal was rough and patchy at best inside the Jacinto hospital, but she was able to make out the words. "It's Henry... I have a problem."

* * *

She met the truck outside of the hospital, two of the more senior doctors on her heels. Resting in the pickup's bed, a young girl of seven gulped hiccuping sobs. Pam DeLune rode beside her, holding the girls body down with her own. Her chest was covered in the girl's vomit.

With agility that surprised even herself, Hayman pulled herself on to the bed. "She's been having seizures," Pam was saying. "She's been delirious and unresponsive to any sort of stimuli."

Hayman checked the girl's pulse–too high–and listened to her breathing. Her skin was burning up. Her head shook back and forth, locked in whatever nightmare she was experiencing. "No, no, no," she was moaning. "No, please, stop..."

Hayman shined a light in her eyes: both pupils had an uneven diameter. "Put her on the stretcher," she told the two doctors. Henry DeLune got out of the driver's door and watched with a worried expression on his face. "What happened?"

"I was out looking for her," he said. "I found her like this a few miles outside of the Stranded campsite. She's been having seizures the entire time." He held up a beer bottle. "This was in her jacket."

Hayman sniffed it–and automatically wished she hadn't. "Drug overdose," she said, appalled. "They spiked it."

"Do you know what it is?" he pressed.

Hayman twisted around to watch them put the girl on a stretcher. "What's her name?" He told her. She crossed over to the girl, talking to her as they jogged in. "Darrina? Darrina, you're in a hospital. Are you awake?"

There was no response.

"Get her on a cardiovascular bypass," Hayman told a doctor. "Hurry!"

Hayman stopped, a little out of breath, and sniffed the beer bottle again. _Why was she drinking this?_ "Can you tell us what's going on?" Pam asked, her voice beginning to edge with the beginning signs of panic. "Who would do that to her?"

"You said you picked her up outside of a Stranded camp?" Henry nodded. "Then you have your answer. She's reacted badly to a form of drug primarily used by rapists. As soon as she takes it, she'll have blurred vision, foggy memory, and an instant addiction. Some fucking pedophile out there probably gave her a few doses for her to react like this. Coupled with the alcohol, it's bound to boost the effects." Hayman wondered how far humanity could steep to, and she found her answer. "She's in for a bad damn week."

"Withdrawl," Henry clarified.

Hayman pointed to a waiting area. "Get Andrea out of the car and sit down and wait an hour."

Without saying a goodbye, she jogged to the room she'd assigned Darrina to. The ICU center wasn't as packed as normal, allowing her to breeze by the tens of patients lining outside the door. "Grant? Is she stable?"

"Her blood pressure is coming down," Grant stated. He'd already hooked her up on bypass, and was checking the readings. "You already know what it is, I assume?"

"Unfortunately." Hayman moved over, attaching another IV drip into the girl's arm, double the amount a healthy Gear would take. The drug would burn it's way through her system, wreaking up her internal organs until the blood began to circulate again. "Take a bloody sample just to be sure. Look for sexual enhancing drugs and STDs." She hated to say it, but she had to make _sure._

She changed Darrina into a medical gown herself, and Grant knew enough to leave her alone as she did her physical evaluation. The girl's face had a half-healed bruise, but her arms, legs, and chest were _battered. _Her wrists were chafed, the bruises forming perfect fingerholds.

Hayman was repulsed.

It wasn't the first child molestation she'd seen in her forty years of working in ICU, and it certainly wouldn't be her last. _Six years into this war, and they take children's innocence away._

The girl suddenly gasped, her eyes opening as if she were breaching water. Her heartbeat escalated, her gray eyes looking around wildly. Her body was still, however, exhausted from the recent shock it'd been put through.

Hayman didn't bother to announce her presence to the child. She watched her slowly take in the room around her. If Hayman could have, she would've put a sedative in the IV bag, but the drug in Darrina's body wouldn't have mixed well with it. Darrina's breathing began to slow, and her eyes rolled back in her head. She was, finally, asleep.

The patter of rain began to fall on the roof.


	8. Meeting Darrina

Author's Note: OK, I've made a couple of mistakes in this fic so far, and one of them is the fact that I never, ever, ever felt the need to check what Jan Rojas looks like. I'm beating myself with a stick right now. Apparently he has red hair and blue eyes, but I was envisioning him more of a hawt Latino because of his last name... so I hope you guys can forgive me if I still use that description!

Also, this is seriously, by far, the darkest story I've ever written, and I'm actually squirming with what I'm writing. I hope nobody takes a look at the recent chapters, says the author's a sadist, and leaves because I really, really do feel bad about putting Dar through all this. It's just setting up things for the larger story again. So just to reiterate: I _am_ sorry for maybe it real gritty. Like, really sorry.

Once again, thank you guys sooo much for your support! It's like every day or so I'm getting an email from FF.N about this, and I am so happy! I hope you guys continue to read and join Darrina and Alpha Squad on their journey! You all are so, so awesome.

ps: To answer questions, sunshiny days for Darrina are coming. Keep holding on, girl!

* * *

**Ephyra, 1200**

Ephyra was the capital of Tyrus, where the Coalation of Ordered Governments ruled. Many historical landmarks marked the city–from the Octus Tower to the Embry Square Park, it was once a tourist attraction that thrived in the granduer of power and nobility. It was also a kryll shithouse.

Kryll poop had a tendency to harden and stink, and water from a bad thunderstorm–especially one carrying razorhail–made it Class A slippery. Baird forgot this little tidbit of information and took a step on the semi-dry cobblestone, suddenly finding no resistance underneath his boot. He grabbed a car to steady himself, keeping his feet perfectly still, and Rojas snorted. "Nice, man."

"Ah, dammit." Baird's boots were covered in the gritty crap. "Shit, help me out of here."

Rojas was still laughing under his breath. "I got you, Damon."

They were the only two Gears on the patrol since Ephyra was still deemed a safe haven on its' granite bedrock, but Baird didn't know if he'd rather have Gears laughing at him than the civvies snorting their way through the early morning. "Dammit, I look like an idiot," Baird muttered, hanging on to the car to avoid an unflattering slap on the pavement.

Rojas leaned over the kryll shit and grabbed him under the armpits to help him back to solid ground. "Secret's safe with me, bro," he said. He raised his voice a little. "Besides, nobody can laugh at you when most of the civvies here did it themselves at least two times."

Rojas was a straight guy, and Baird liked him for it. As he led Baird down the street he said, "I'd spit in the pile, but I'd end up getting my nose in it."

Helmets provided a modicum of protection from high-caliber rounds, but Baird couldn't stand the claustrophobic feel. He settled for his earpiece. The only other Gear in his squad that point-blank refused to wear the headgear was Cole, but Baird strongly doubted they made a helmet big enough to fit his head. "Get rid of the headgear, then."

"No way, man," Rojas said. He knocked on the hard part for emphasis. "This is your safe haven right here. No way I'm going back to Jessie without this baby on. I even _suggest_ it and the ol' girl goes crazy."

Baird felt he had to ask. "So how long have you been with her?"

"Since highschool," Rojas said proudly.

Baird was a little taken aback. "That ain't right–you don't got a kid."

"Almost did," Rojas explained. "She carried it for about three months, but too much stress... me in the army, wedding plans... things sort of fell apart for a few months. Don't get me wrong, we been trying... but we don't know if we want a kid to grow up here until we know for sure the war's over. Maybe not even until a few years after."

"Hell, I'm an adult and I don't want to be here," Baird said. "Don't even think I want a kid or sex. Just a bed and three hots." It was true, and he wasn't afraid to admit it. He didn't care for a woman's touch or a pat on the head–it was part of the reason he was so sarcastic. Mainly because _he didn't care._ Rojas was one of the few people he cared about as a friend.

"Yeah, man," Rojas said. He paused for a moment and snorted to himself. "You know what I've always wanted to do? Too late now, though."

"What's that?" There was so much he could imagine Rojas doing–from parasailing like he talked about, getting a necklace of Locust teeth, or forcing Redshirt to the floor until he shut his fucking mouth.

Rojas gestured with a wave of his hand towards the Octus Tower. "Go to _college,_ man. Learn some things other than the biology we study now. I want to sit in class and worry about my–"

Baird never knew what he wanted to worry about–it was drowned out in a sudden _beep beep beep_ of an incoming message from Mike a few streets down. "There's kryll shit everywhere," he was complaining. "Anybody got a _mop?_"

"Sure. I'll give you the nanny outfit to go with it," Baird drawled. "Thanks for the sitrep. We had no idea."

"I ain't never seen a Train on this crap before, baby," Cole said. Baird could see his face now, twisted in some kind of grimace of macabre humor. "Dis-gust-ing. It's like a Slip 'n Slide without the hygiene."

"Maybe we could convince Hayman to wash it down," Rojas joked.

"Don't let her hear you say that, man..."

"We're finishing up on our route," Mike said, settling the conversation with a sergeant's finality. "We'll head back to base unless you need some help."

Baird and Rojas exchanged a glance."Go take your CO break," Rojas said. "But say hi to the missus for me."

"I don't _have_ a missus, Jan."

"Aw, don't play stupid," Rojas teased. "I seen you making googly-eyes at Redgrave's sister." Before Mike could draw in a much-needed breath to argue with, Rojas negated it by saying, "Or you could just say hi to her for _me. _Because she's a friend. Get my logic?"

"Watch yourself, Jan," Mike warned before signing off.

Baird grinned freely, and Rojas swirled his head to look at him. The neck plate caught on one of the straps, and he finally tugged off the helmet in frustration. "You really love it when I do that, don't you?" he asked cautiously.

Baird understood the hesitation. For Rojas, it was playing around to lighten the mood, just like Cole went around laughing at the kryll like they were some sort of macabre butterfly. For Baird, it was something different. "His Royal Highness is an ass," Baird said freely. He'd never been one to beat around the bush, anyway. "Thinks he _so_ infallible. Makes me sick, man."

"A lot of people would say that about you, though," Rojas said carefully. "You're not about to go kiss babies, are you? 'Cus Mike ain't." Baird's mouth pressed into a frown. Sure, he had a reason for what he did. He always did. "Look, what I'm sayin' is just that we can't afford to be rivals and I can't cause dissent in my team. We have to work together to kill the grubs. When they're gone, you and Mike can dish out whatever you want, okay?"

Baird snorted. "What about you and Red? Why are you so mean to him?"

An embarrassed shadow crossed Rojas's face. "I'm not _mean,_ Damon. I just set my limits with the kid. I don't put up with the innocent bullcrap he puts out."

"Come on," Baird pressed, sneering. He'd finally found Rojas's button, and decided to press it a bit to see what would happen. "Stop being a hypocrite."

"I'm not a hypocrite," Rojas said a little stiffly. "He got on my nerves in school. It hasn't changed, apparently."

"So tell me a story. _How_ did he snap your nerves?"

Rojas's brown eyes looked into his, an eyebrow raised. "Maybe I'll tell you later when you stop with that look on your face. You look like a friggin' comedian with a cheek implant."

"Dumbass."

"I've been called worse."

Rojas continued foreword. Baird hadn't realized they'd stopped until he did so, and he hastened to catch up with him. "Okay, I take it back," he said, the closest to an apology he'd ever gotten in the past few years. He respected Rojas too much to have a 'disagreement' with him. "So seriously, tell me."

Rojas sighed.

* * *

**1300**

An hour later, on their way back to base, they got another transmission, this time from a squad stationed in Jacinto. "This is Sergeant Redgrave of Omicron to Alpha Four. Omicron to Alpha Four. Do you read? Over."

"Sergeant Mike Matthews receiving, over." Mike was already at base with Cole and Red, but they kept a general link open whenever an outside source contacted them.

Baird and Rojas exchanged a glance, automatically slowing down on their walk to listen better. Baird placed a finger in his ear to listen better. Rojas slipped his helmet back on, hiding his features from view.

"We're outside of Jacinto Medical," Nait Redgrave said. He was a bit of an elevated hero among the Gears. He'd held out for two days against a Locust assault with his team on the outskirts of Landdown, then he'd been trapped outside of Jacinto during the Hammer of Dawn deployment five years ago and hid in a drainpipe with a few stragglers and showed up weeks after. He and Cole got along real well. "There's a guy here that says he gotta get in contact with Baird and the Train. He said you guys played vet a few days ago and asked him to look after a kid."

Damn, she was _never_ going to leave him the hell alone.

"Yo, baby, I did that," Cole said. "Did he find her?"

"Uh, more than that, Train. Doc Hayman needs you two to come down. She says, quite clearly, it is not optional. I'll clear it with Control if you two come, because," Nait lowered his voice, "this lady's getting on my last nerve."

Baird pushed his earbead in deeper to make sure he heard it right. "What's the kid doing at the hospital?"

"Some Stranded guys got to her and drugged her up. She's having trouble remembering stuff, so Hayman thinks you guys can help if you met her a few days ago."

Baird and Rojas looked at each other long and hard. Baird felt his jaw harden a fraction. _She stole my Lancer._ Any kid that could steal a Lancer, climb on a roof and climb back down, deserved some sort of special attention. Besides, he had nothing else to do. At least that's what he told himself. If he wanted, he could think of _several_ things that he had to do, especially to the 'Dills around the garage.

"I'll be there in a few," Cole said without hesitation. "It's not too far away. Baird, you there?"

"I'm already heading in that direction." Rojas broke into a jog, and Baird followed. "Five minutes."

"Be there in ten." Cole was retired, but he could still sprint like a pro. Baird could hear him clipping his armor back on in the background. "Anything else we should know about?"

"I'm leaving Jaskia to meet you guys." Jaskia was his girlfriend, a dark-skinned woman with bright red hair from the islands. She didn't have the accent, but she was a _mean_ lady when the mood hit her. "Cole, you're coming on a joint-patrol with me when you get back."

Nait Redgrave didn't mind to give orders. If he wanted something, he usually got it.

"I got you, Nait," Cole said.

Baird signed off, and for the next five minutes the only sound was their steady breathing as they jogged down the road. In spite of himself, Baird was actually _worried_ about the kid. He'd only seen her for all of one time, but the way Cole looked after her and helped her out seemed to cement in his mind that this was a very, very good girl. And if she wasn't that, then she did deserve some special attention.

Baird was a bastard. He was a jerk, he was sarcastic, and he wasn't the best guy in the world. He understood that and _embraced_ that destiny. But did that mean that he was a stupid, egotistical uncaring brute like a Stranded?

Caring for a kid because she's hurt and in a hospital was something a Stranded _wouldn't_ do. Therefor, he did it.

He'd never embrace a life of love-all-and-forgive, but he could try for a kid.

* * *

Hayman didn't look any more stressed out than usual when she greeted them at the door. Baird caught the eye of that guy with the dog, Henry, and gave him an appreciative nod. He was over in the waiting room alone, arms crossed. Baird caught Jaskia's thin, willowy frame hidden behind a large newspaper, her red hair glinting in the weak lighting.

Hayman left for moment to clear up some paperwork with one of the nurses–_who does paperwork in this war, anyway?–_and Baird crossed over to Henry and Jaskia. Henry stood and shook his hand like a good, honest man. "She's getting better," he said. "But she still can't remember much. Hayman doesn't want me to confuse her, so I'm not allowed to talk to her."

Rojas sat down next to Jaskia, having taken his helmet off when he'd come him. He leaned over her shoulder to look at the news. She glanced up at him, dark eyes glittering mischievously. He grinned back lopsidedly, and she just shook her head and continued to read.

Baird glanced back at Hayman, who was bent over a report. "What happened?" he asked in a low voice.

"Found her a few miles outside a Stranded camp here in Jacinto," Henry said, sitting down. Baird, afraid of getting his armor caught in the rails, declined. "She was having all sorts of seizures. Put her in the back of the pickup truck and brought her here. She had a beer bottle on her."

"Beer," Baird said flatly. "They made her drunk."

"And they put some pills in it," Henry finished grimly. "I don't know much about it, but Doc Hayman says that it causes some real... _significant_ memory loss. Soon as she takes it, she'll stop remembering stuff. She has to be kept on a single dose per day, and she's been there for a couple I'd say... Finally snapped."

"She lost all reasoning," Jaskia said, handing the newspaper to Rojas. Her voice was warm and deep like hot chocolate. "Her brain was affected, but Maryon says she'll recover."

Maryon was Hayman's first name. Right, he'd nearly forgotten. He felt his stomach twist a little at the kid's predicament, hardening his dislike for the Stranded ever more. "That's not..." There were no words.

"It's a rape drug," Jaskia finished, her voice lowering in distaste.

Baird caught Rojas's eye and saw the same disgust in there.

"Pedophiles," Rojas muttered. _Bet he's glad he didn't have that kid now..._ "Great, now I'm pissed."

Hayman came over nearly five minutes later, looking exhausted. "So here's the fucking loudmouth," she muttered. "Did you meet the girl before?"

"Yeah."

"Then follow me."

She led him to the ICU unit, and from the corner of his eye he saw Cole enter the hospital. Rojas got up and headed towards him.

He wondered what Cole would do when he realized what happened to Thel-Lehon, considering how vehemently he'd defended her before.

_Probably take her to the base itself._

On the way there, Hayman quizzed him on how well he knew her and how much time he'd spent with her. When he revealed he'd done nothing but demoralize her, Hayman slapped him in he chest with her clipboard and warned him against any foolishness. With a _yes ma'am_ they continued.

They stopped in front of her room, and Hayman pulled back the screen.

* * *

"Yeah... I remember him."

Darrina's words were soft and gentle, befitting of an infirm such as she was. She moved around in the little bed, feeling her heartbeat accelerate in her chest. She wasn't afraid, she told herself. Like the doctor said, some of the medications made her heart work overtime.

The doctor was really sad, but not _about_ her. She had the kind of weary anger that had solidified into a shell around her. She was really nice to Darrina, but the little Pesenga couldn't help but notice how... coarse she was with others. Like they were thinking at too slow of a pace for her. But with her shattered memory, Hayman had all the time in the world... It was strange.

But right now, Darrina only had eyes for the strange man standing awkwardly in front of her cot. She wasn't hooked up to any more machines, so she didn't know why he was so uncomfortable. Machines were scary... she wasn't, right?

She wasn't even half as tall as he was... so she couldn't be scary.

Hayman must've been scaring him, she concluded.

She could remember a little bit of their confrontation, but it was better than the other foggy memories. She remembered the blonde hair and blue goggles for sure. "I..." She paused, frowning. "I _sort of_ remember him."

"Don't try too hard," Hayman warned. "Let it come naturally. What did you remember about him first?"

"His goggles... they're funny-looking." She grinned up at him.

He just snorted. "It keeps grub bits out of my eyes," he explained. "When I chainsaw them, bone tends to go everywhere. Hurts a lot if you get poked."

"But you weren't wearing them," she pointed out, trying to remember. She could remember something like a big fight in the back of her mind. There was a car...

Didn't the car drive away? Or did it get blown up? She couldn't remember.

She closed her eyes, submitting to her exhaustion for a moment. "I'm thinking..." she told them, so they didn't think she'd passed out like she did yesterday. Other figures were in her memory, blurred and confused.

She touched a hand to her face, tracing the bruises that had formed. "Somebody... somebody threw me down some stairs. He wasn't fighting–he just did it. He didn't have a reason..."

Somebody made a noise in his throat at the door, and Darrina opened her eyes to see a familiar face staring down at her. Something clicked, and she waved. "Hi, Mister Cole," she said cheerfully.

He'd saved her from something. He was nice. That's all she remembered.

"Hey, champ, how you doin'?" he asked, crossing his arms.

"I'm trying to remember stuff. Did you get in trouble?"

Cole smiled. "No trouble, Dar. None at all."

"Did..." she screwed up her face, struggling. "Did they let you come here?"

"We volunteered," Baird said. He frowned for a moment, and reached out to pat her on the head. She could feel how tense his hand was. "Hey, you're gonna remember something real bad about me soon," he said seriously. "When you do, I want you to know I'm sorry."

He seemed like he meant it, so she nodded.

Cole's stomach rumbled, such a loud noise that it made Hayman look up from her quiet contemplations. "Cafeteria is on the second level," she said, returning to her clipboard. She seemed to be writing things down. Darrina wished she could read.

"Okay..." Cole gave Darrina a long look. "You want something, hon?"

The thought of food automatically turned her stomach, and she closed her eyes, shaking her head in a vague no. "She's on a few different medications," Hayman said softly. "Food wouldn't stay down about now."

"Got it. Damon?"

"Anything hot," Baird said, nodding to an unspoken question.

When Cole had retreated towards the stairs, he drug a seat near the bed and sat down on it. His armor snagged on it, and a flicker of annoyance crossed his face. He muttered something under his breath. He scooted closer. "How's the remembering?"

"I'm tired," Darrina said. "My brain hurts."

Baird chuckled softly. "Does it?" he asked.

She nodded, focusing on his armored glove. There were so many ridges and underlying protection that she couldn't imagine his fingers could even move in them. They looked so stiff and uncomfortable. She shifted in her bed to get a better look. "Can I see your hand?" she asked curiously.

"The skin or the glove?"

"I don't know..." she said. She reached down and took his hand in hers, bringing it closer to her chest for a better inspection. Her fingers traced the little outlines of metal, and she giggled when she made his fingers bend. Beside her, Baird chuckled a bit. "That's so cool," she said, making his finger bend even more. "It looks so weird on the outside."

He could've taken off his glove and let her play with it, but she was glad he didn't. She continued to experiment, turning it this way and that and trying to figure out all the protection on it. It looked nice, but she didn't think that it would stop bullets very much.

Or maybe it could, and it was part of the disguise. She was enthralled by the idea.

She rapped her knuckles on the material, a little disappointed when it gave immeadiately.

"Why don't you wear a helmet?" she asked suddenly.

Baird didn't look surprised by the question at all. In fact, he talked to her like she was an adult when he said, "Because it's claustrophobic." At her confused look, he reiterated, "It's too small for my head. And I don't want to glow like a Christmas tree when I'm fighting at night."

She giggled at his comparison. "But Christmas is red and green," she protested.

"Aw, c'mon," he said. "I'm color blind."

"What's that?"

"I can't see certain colors. They all look different to me than to you."

"Am I colorblind?"

"Girls don't have that as much," Hayman said, smiling over her paperwork. "Be glad you're normal."

"And be glad I'm not in the bomb disposal unit," Baird told her.

She had a vision of his trying to figure out a blue wire from a red and green one and giggled.

She didn't remember anything else for the next two hours, but the Gears were nice to her. Cole ate his food in the cafeteria and left Baird's outside her room so it wouldnt upset her stomach, then came in and told some funny jokes about the fights he'd been in throughout the years. She listened to them, enthralled, until Hayman pronounced visiting hours over and made them leave. "Please don't go!" Darrina pleaded, gripping Baird's hand.

"Relax, honey," Hayman said soothingly. "They'll be back tomorrow."

"Uh, yeah, we will," Baird said, throwing a look her way. "Get some sleep, kid."

"Yeah, see ya later, kiddo," Cole said, patting her on the head before they left.

Hayman left soon after, and Darrina was left in her room. It was beginning to get dark outside, so she got out of bed and switched on the light beside her so the kryll wouldn't eat her face even though she wasn't in a kryll-infested area. She burrowed under the blankets and tried to remember more.


	9. Author's Note 2

A/N: Wow, thanks for all the reviews, guys! I really really appreciate it!

I'm gonna have to take a bit longer on chapter 9, though. :( Today I had an accident with a power drill and I'm having trouble typing. Just letting you guys know so you know I'm not dead. :)

–Abby


	10. That's my bacon!

A/N: Thanks for the 30+ reviews! I feel so loved! :D

Jord and I are going to co-write a fic (title WIP) soon, so please be on the lookout for any new additions from us! Jord is the one with the beautifully-written fic taking place in GOW3–A Grievous Redemption. Please go check it out! The fic we're working on is interesting to write because it really allows for us to explore character and feeling, and I can't wait to have the first chapters up! We're publishing under my account, so just look for something later. :D

Yes, I am aware the Fall of Landown happened 5A.E and not 6A.E which is what time arc our story takes place in, and as much as I'd love to keep it in chronological order I don't think a year matters much. Hopefully!

Also, I'm rewriting a few of the last chapters. They were done half-ass, I want to make them better.

This chapter had a LOT of trouble submitting and it messed up some of the formatting. If you see an error, please please please tell me!

--

****

COG Base, Jacinto

A tall, young-looking man stood by the doors leading towards the mess hall. A delicious scent of leftovers from dinner–some type of reprocessed corn, bacon, and eggs–wafted through the courtyard and drew Gears either getting on their patrols or getting off a late-night. The man barely noticed the smell, instead concentrating on looking for a familiar face in the crowd of pressed bodies.

From beside him, a shorter, stockier man with light blonde hair and blue eyes joined his searching of the crowd. "Well," the blonde said wryly. "It's not exactly like you can miss him."

"It's the Cole-friggin'-Train, Nick," the taller one said. He was noticeably less muscular than those around him, lean and built for long-distance running. His black hair was beginning to grow out of its' close cut, falling across stormy green eyes. "If you miss him you better go see the optometrist."

Nick snorted and began to turn away. "I'll save you some if it looks good," he said, and turned towards the mess to follow the throng of Gears and fight for a place in line like a pack of wolves. The taller man just shook his head and turned to looking across the courtyard.

Tanner caught his eye from halfway down the courtyard and picked up the pace. Tanner was about fifty, graying around the hair and getting some deep-set wrinkles, but he was a good soldier. They shared a nod when they came within talking distance. "I thought you were out on patrol near Landown, Nait," Tanner said curiously. "What brought you back?"

_Family problems. _"I got rotated out," Nait said, smiling a little. "Hoffman is giving Nick and I a few days R&R. Think they're sending us somewhere big later."

Tanner's face fell a bit. "Oh," he said, comprehending. Why else would Hoffman himself give Omicron a few days off? "Oh..."

"Yeah," Nait said, looking away. "Well, ain't nothing I can do about it."

"'Ain't' isn't a word, Redgrave," Tanner said a little crossly, and Nait grinned. Their short time as teacher and student had been memorable... for the teacher at least. "I was a _language arts_ teacher, for God's sake. And I was a damn good one."

"Don't feel bad, Mister T," Nait said slyly. "It ain't like a teacher could get in my head, anyway. I even had a good friendship with the SRO."

The School Resource Officer wasn't a bad lady, and she'd gone to great lengths in pulling him out of class just to talk to him. She was genuinely likeable, and he had no idea if she was still alive. It bothered him that he'd never thought to check, but he knew in his heart she probably was. Hoping was for fools. Tanner must have been thinking the same thing, because he said, "I sure miss that lady. Always good to me, she was."

Nait didn't curse–it was a habit he'd forced himself into to find a better way to express his opinion. Tanner didn't curse in Nait's earshot because in so many ways they were still teacher and student. It was being mindful of this philosophy when Nait answered carefully, "She was a damn good woman."

Tanner grunted a bit, and nodded. They stood staring into the courtyard for a few moments, caught in quiet reflection of a life long past. _But I still have Jaskia. I still have my sis. Nick is still with me. We're alive, we're fighting._

The only reason Hoffman would have called him back for a few days of R&R was to send him _back_ to Landown. Nait wasn't dense, he knew that Mayor Leland had put in a huge super-important memo to Prescott _demanding_ more Gears because the Mayor had brought him into his office and explained it point-blank to him. Nait admired Mayor Leland for his ability to make even a request–because really, it was a request unfortunately–sound like you could die if you didn't follow through with it.

Landown was near the borders of the Jacinto Plateau, and even though the grubs couldn't break through the subterrain it didn't stop them from raiding every unprotected supply truck running between the city and Ephyra. Hoffman wasn't a dense man, and he must've known as well as anybody the grubs would soon step it up. They were beginning to mobilize outside of the Plateau according to Scout, his sister.

He couldn't wait to get off of duty and finish his conversation with Cole so he could go see his sister and his girlfriend and hug them both to his chest and keep them there until he was shipped back out. Jaskia and Scout weren't afraid of anything, and he had a sudden vision of the Locusts breaking through the granite to meet an unexpected resistance in the form of two little women holding broomsticks and saucepans. He couldn't help but grin.

"You got a girlfriend since I left, Tanner?" Nait asked curiously, breaking the silence that had engulfed them.

Tanner shook his head. "I still have a few friends," he said carefully. "But why attach myself to another person when I'd only hurt them when I died?"

"You don't expect to survive the war..."

"I'm fifty-two, Nait," Tanner said wearily. "And my age is catching up to me. My joints hurt when I run, and I can't run as far. My fingers hurt when I reload, so I'm slower. Slow people don't win this war, Nait. I'm just waiting for my time, and I'll bring down as many as I can with me."

Nait frowned, unsettled by his old teacher's revelation. He didn't want to lie and say _'Of course you'll survive,'_ but what Tanner was saying was true. Hoffman didn't even fight any more except occasionally because of his age. Nait was suddenly panicking, wondering if Tanner would die _tomorrow_ or the next day because of complications. He dry-swallowed once and said, "I'll figure something out. I'll get you into a post at Control, or... or something. You don't have to worry, okay? I'll take care of it."

Tanner pat him on the back and began to edge towards the mess. "I'm going to fight, Nait. Don't take that away from me. Aren't you coming in for breakfast?"

Nait shook his head, looking away so he didn't see the plan forming in his mind. He was going to get Tanner a post at Control or somewhere safer at least. "I'm waiting for Cole Train to wake up. He's coming on patrol with me and Nick."

"'Nick and I,'" Tanner corrected albeit sternly. "Now say it right."

Nait sighed theoretically. "I'm waiting for Cole Train because he's coming on a patrol with _Nick and I."_

"Good job. Remember to turn in your homework tomorrow or I _will_ make you complete it during lunch," Tanner warned, and before Nait could say anything he turned around and stalked back into the mess hall. Nait watched him go, snorting to himself.

Yeah, Tanner would be a good Control operator. He could make people laugh with the old teacher-student act.

Nait waited as long as his stomach would allow, but Cole never showed up. True to his word, though, Nick had saved him a heaping pile of bacon and corn. The eggs had apparently disappeared before Nick had gotten there. Nait took a seat and began to wolf down the meal, sating the hunger that had tempted him outside. Nick was eating a bit slower, savoring the flavor of the bacon as he ate.

"Bacon," he said, closing his eyes. "We cannot live without you."

"Amen to that," Nait said, shoveling three pieces into his mouth. Nick opened one eye to watch and promptly closed it. Nait took the chance to nab two pieces of his own from his plate. Nick's hand shot out and grabbed Nait's wrist with his eyes still closed, and Nait dropped the bacon back on to his plate. "Don't lead me to temptation, I can find my own way," Nait muttered, quoting one of his friend's old sayings.

"Don't steal my bacon," Nick growled.

"Then swallow it already!" Nait said. "Don't keep tempting me... it's just right there... so good-looking... so delicious...."

"So crunchy," Nick added, taking a slow, exaggerated bite. The crunch made his stomach rumble.

Suddenly a hand appeared over his shoulder and snatched half the remainder of Nait's bacon off of his plate. Nait let out an outraged cry, turning his head up to face the blonde that was now crunching on it. His blue goggles glinted in the weak sunlight. He shrugged, mouth full, and held up a finger until he swallowed. "Ah, that's better," he said. "Yeah, that was good."

Nait was about to abandon his no-cursing policy, and his look must've said he was gonna bite Damon Baird's throat out to get the rest of the bacon because Nick placed a restraining hand on his shoulder. "What the heck do you think you're playing at?" Nait growled, shrugging off Nick's hand. "Yo, man, that was _mine!_"

"Well, you guys were so intent on your conversation I was wondering if you'd forgotten about it." Baird smiled a sickly sweet smile, his teeth still coated in bacon grease.

Now taking Nait Redgrave's bacon was just _wrong._ Nait wasn't only angry–he was about to rip off the man's sneer and duck tape it to his butt. Maybe Tanner could tell something was happening from across the room, because suddenly he was there, a hand on his shoulder.

Baird seemed to be getting a great joy out of this torment.

"Calm down, son," Tanner said, patting Nait's shoulder. "Easy does it."

__

I'm about to march into certain death. I'm going to Landown to kill some friggin' grubs. And he just stole my friggin' bacon.

"Hey, he wasn't eating it," Baird said, still grinning. He had a full plate in his hand, teeming with bacon, egg, and corn. Baird tilted his head to the side a little. "You aren't really _angry_ about this, are you? Calm down, I'm just playin'."

And with that, Baird took off half of his bacon and placed it on Nait's plate. He could feel his vein throbbing in his head, his heart pulsing. "Get out of my face, Baird."

"Now _that's_ not nice," Baird said, a glint in his eye. "Sounds like you need to learn some manners, asshole."

"I'm dead serious, Baird, get out of my face before I brand those big blue goggles right into your–"

"Easy," Tanner scolded. "Baird, get out of here before Nait gets his bacon back the hard way."

"You should control that temper, then, huh Nait?" Baird asked. "Too bad I _can't_ leave, because guess who has the flu?"

Nait's heart fell. _Cole... don't leave me with this idiot..._ "Wonderful," he said dryly. "Is he alright?"

"Oh sure," Baird said, taking a seat next to Nait. He began to dig into his meal. Tanner's hand was a constant pressure on his shoulder, calming him down. No, you just didn't steal a hungry man's bacon. "Except he knew you'd be waiting for him. Funny, huh?"

No, not really. Augustus Cole and Nait Redgrave had been friends since their old thrashball days. It wasn't funny. It was _logical._ "Gee, I wonder why."

"He said you wanted him on a patrol today... near that hospital we were just at if he knew you right. So he sent me instead."

Nait glared at Baird, feeling Tanner's incomprehension beside him. "You're not fair."

"Have you known me to be?" Baird countered. "Look, just drop me off by the hospital and I'll leave you the hell alone. That good enough for your tiny brain?"

Nait could feel his muscles clenching again, and it was an effort to remain calm. _You're just mad because he stole your bacon. Shut up._

"We'll drop you off," Nick said. "But you owe us."

Baird's smile would've curdled milk.

--

From a civilians's perspective, it would look like all the Gears did was patrol and fight to occasional Locust because basically that's all the city-squads did. Gears were actually responsible for a lot of things like ferrying supplies to outlaying cities, making sure the Stranded didn't get too rowdy, crowd control, and they were the only organized force in the world fighting the Locust. In the middle of Jacinto where their main base was, there really was _nothing_ to do except patrolling. So maybe people began to lose their perspective.

They would regain that perspective very quickly. The job of the Gears was to protect, serve, and defend. Even from their safe haven.

Darrina listened to Baird's words with a fascination she'd never felt before and felt a change of heart coming towards her armored defenders.

She sat in a chair near the window, still pale and fragile-looking, and listened to Baird's words with her knees drawn up to her chest. Doctor Hayman had found her some new clothes in a donation bin that fit her just right, and she wore them now instead of that awful hospital gown. An IV needle was still connected to her arm, but she was taken off the blood thing. Hayman was really pleased with the machine's work and said the drugs were almost out of her system days before she would have thought.

But it also raised a question of what she'd do in the future. She was _not_ going back to the Stranded camp again, and Hayman had invited her to stay with her until she had something set up. She didn't want to stay with Mister Henry and his kid Andrea, because for some crazy reason she was terrified of the family.

Hayman didn't say it, but Darrina knew she wouldn't be able to support her. She was _always_ at the hospital, and Darrina _hated_ hospitals. It looked like she would be back on the streets again, and it scared her a little bit. Baird never talked about it, but she could tell he was thinking about it, too. She just made herself listen to him and admire him, because he really, really was nice and he did believe in what he said.

Baird was so _different_ than the other Stranded she'd ever met. He wasn't nice, he told her. He was actually mean to some other people, but that was because he didn't put up with nonsense. Then he told her a funny story about how he stole another guy's bacon when he was taking too long to get to it. It sounded so just and right that she even got a little angry at the man that Baird said looked like he was going to hit him.

"But nobody can hit you," Darrina protested.

"I got shot, didn't I?" Baird countered.

Darrina tried to keep Baird talking. She wanted to know everything about how life was like before the Locusts came, and she wanted to know if anybody _knew_ they were coming before they did. When he asked what she meant, she explained that sometimes she knew what was going to happen before it happened, or sometimes she got a better insight into somebody before the grown-ups realized it.

"That's a good skill to have," Baird said. "You're using your five senses."

She frowned. "I thought there were more than five senses," she said.

Baird shook his head. "Smell, sight, hearing, touch, and taste," he said, touching each of his corresponding body parts. "If you learn how to use all of those just the right way, you get a sixth sense."

"A sixth sense?"

Baird nodded. "My old Sarge used to tell me that when you train yourself to use all of those senses at the same time you get so aware of the places around you that you get a sixth sense like you have. You can feel things before they happen, or you can make a good character judgement."

And then he grinned. "What do you think of me?" he asked.

"You're really fun," Darrina said. "_And_ you're nice."

Baird shook his head. "I'm not nice."

"You are to me."

"But what about to the other people?"

"But..." she frowned, trying to remember what he'd said before. "Don't they take too long to decide... or something?"

Baird actually threw back his head and laughed. "Maybe I'm so mean because there's nobody nice anymore."

She shook her head in denial. "You're _not_ mean!"

"Are too!"

"Are not!"

"Are too!"

"Are not!"

And on they went, until one of the doctors came in with a fruit pack for Darrina and a cheeseburger for Baird. She ate her fruit a little uncertainly, staring greedily at Baird's cheeseburger until he ripped off half and placed it on the fruit pack. She ate it graciously.

They ate in silence for a long time until they were done, and Baird took the fruitpack–the pineapple and pear uneaten–and threw it away. "You could've had some," she said. "I don't mind."

"Yeah, but I don't like pineapple. And pears taste funny."

"It tastes _weird,_" she said in agreement, nodding. "Why did you get a cheeseburger? I thought all the cows are dying."

"They're not dying," Baird corrected her. "We're breeding them to get more, but it's hard. Most of us are planting fruit gardens wherever we can so we can eat while the cows mature."

"But how do we get the seeds?"

"There are seeds inside some fruits," he said. "Did you notice how the center was already cut out of your oranges and apples?" She nodded. "You take the seeds from them and replant."

"But I thought it'd take... well, a long time to grow fruit."

"The scientists are working on it," Baird said. He seemed to really enjoy talking to her. Darrina wondered how he'd gotten some of the scars on his arms. He'd only just taken off the arms of his armor when it got too hot. She was itching to check them out. "We're all trying as best we can."

That opened up a whole other range of questions, which Baird seemed glad to answer. How many crops were being planted in Jacinto? How many people lived here? What happened on Scorched Earth? Why did they do it? Who did it? How many people died?

Scorched Earth was something she had the biggest questions for. She could only vaguely remember what happened because she was only three. "I only remember... there was a lot of black clouds. I thought it was going to rain, and I wanted to go play but I wasn't allowed."

"Kids aren't even allowed to play in the rain now," Baird said, but he was frowning. "Were you in Jacinto when the Hammer strikes went off?"

"No," she said. "I don't remember where I was before."

"When did your parents die?"

"Two years ago," she answered, a it shyly. "The Locusts killed them."

"Yeah... they killed a lot of people."

That was all he'd really say about it, and so she had to move on to another line of questions.

Baird stayed for a long time, but then a really tall man with green eyes came to get him. He was dressed in full armor, and his helmet was held loosely in his hand. Darrina's eyes widened, looking at the menagerie of guns on his back. "Hey, kid," the man said, holding out his hand. "I'm Nait Redgrave."

"I'm Darrina Thel-Lehon," she said, gripping his hand. The glove he wore was familiar to her, having played with Baird's own glove the day before. "I'm sick."

"Yeah, I know," Nait said, patting her head. "But you're getting all better now, right?"

"Yeah," she said, grinning. "Baird's really nice."

Nait raised his eyebrows a bit, and an involuntary smile crossed his face. "Yeah... Baird's a real hoot."

"What's a hoot?" she asked curiously.

"Hey, I thought the patrol didn't end for another hour," Baird said, standing. He began to replace his armor, tightening the straps to form to his arms. "You guys calling it early?"

"No, you're finishing the patrol with me." Nait smiled sweetly. "Nick's already rostered off to go see _his_ girlfriend. You are on the patrol with me, so..."

A shadow crossed over Baird's face, and he nodded stiffly. Darrina wondered why they didn't like each other, but she was automatically on Baird's side, whatever it was. He went in the bathroom and retrieved his Lancer and a his pistil, then turned to her. "Get better, Darrina," he said.

"Are you leaving?" she asked, a little saddened.

"Have to go finish this patrol," he said. "But hey, I'll be back tomorrow if you want–"

"No, don't come back tomorrow," she said quickly. "I don't want you to get in trouble."

He nodded a little. "Okay. I'll see you when I can, then."

She grinned, even though her heart sunk a bit. _But I won't be here in two days..._ Because she knew her body, and knew it was recovering well and that in two days she'd be almost completely better. Her memory wasn't quite back yet, but she could remember everything that had happened in the past month and in her early childhood up until the time her parents died. Between the ages of five and seven, though, she had no idea.

They left, and Darrina was alone again. She stared morosely out the window, watching the different squads milling about the hospital. Really, nobody needed to patrol this area, she thought. Baird had said it was an easy job, reserved for Hoffman's favorites, and he was only able to come because he teamed up with one of the squads taking some rest from one of the surrounding cities.

Darrina sat in thought for a long time, she only sound in the room the steady 'drip-drip' of the IV fluid. When Hayman came in, she was still in the same chair staring out the window.

"You look tired," the doctor noted, taking Baird's vacated seat.

"A little," Darrina said. It was only three o'clock, but her body was telling her it was at least eleven.

"Well, you should go to sleep if you're tired," Hayman said. She rummaged in her white coat and brought out a red lollipop. She handed it to her. "Nait Redgrave's girlfriend gives one to him every day he patrols," she explained. "He saved this one for you."

Darrina took it gratefully, grinning. "Thanks."

Hayman stood to check her readings, and when she was satisfied she gave her two pills and a cup of water. After she left to check on other patients, Darrina fell asleep watching the Gears outside.


End file.
